Guardian of the Stones

Chapter 1: Echoes in Glass

The humid Virginia air clung to Dave like a second skin as he navigated the labyrinthine shelves of his Occult Emporium. Steam from a forgotten cup of tea mingled with the scent of incense and old books, creating a cozy fog that veiled the afternoon sun filtering through the dusty window panes. He hummed along to a faint melody echoing from the worn gramophone in the corner, a bittersweet tune from his homeland that tugged at his heartstrings.

Diane, her fingers tracing the intricate glyphs on a Victorian crystal glass nestled amongst tarnished amulets, shivered despite the summer heat. It wasn’t the air-conditioning, but a vibration emanating from the glass itself — a low hum, a whisper, a melody carried on an unseen breeze.

Dave, a seasoned skeptic despite his stock-in-trade, chuckled, his voice tinged with a familiar British lilt. “Ghosts of Victorian seances, no doubt,” he teased, his gaze twinkling with amusement.

But Diane’s eyes, wide with a mix of fear and fascination, held no room for his lightheartedness. “It’s something else, Dave. I can feel it, a voice, faint but… familiar.”

The voice, a haunting melody of ancient whispers, bloomed within her mind. It spoke not of seances and teacups, but of wind-swept moors and stones that scraped the sky, of a lineage that called her from across the ocean. It spoke of Aylesford.

Dave, his own skepticism momentarily shaken by the raw intensity in her gaze, raised an eyebrow. “Aylesford? That tiny village nestled in the heart of England? What does it have to do with this dusty old glass?”

Diane, the words tumbling out in a torrent fueled by newfound urgency, spoke of recurring dreams, of monoliths that pierced the clouds in her sleep, of whispers promising a legacy she didn’t understand. She spoke of her grandmother, her voice echoing the unspoken stories that haunted their family.

Dave, his heart pulled by the yearning in her eyes, saw beyond his own skepticism. He saw the desperation for answers, the weight of a potential yet unrealized. He knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that Aylesford wasn’t just a place; it was a siren song, a call to awaken a destiny that slumbered within her.