A Bedtime Story

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Restoration of Orizon, Part 3 of this week's series: The Prism of the Deep.Felix, Juno, and Widget stepped out of the Gilded Needle and into the streets of Orizon. To their surprise, the city was not filled with water; it was encased in a giant atmospheric bubble that felt like a crisp autumn afternoon. The air was perfectly still, and the only sound was the clicking of Widget’s metal feet on the pearl paved roads."This place is beautiful, but it is definitely missing its residents," Widget said, his head spinning three hundred and sixty degrees to take in the architecture. "And it is awfully grey for a city made of light."Felix noticed that the vibrant colors he had seen in his vision were gone. The coral buildings were a dull ash color, and the crystal towers were cloudy and opaque. At the center of the city sat a massive structure that resembled a lighthouse, but its lantern was empty, a dark void where a flame should have been."The engine is dead," Juno observed, pointing to the base of the lighthouse. "Orizon was built to be the lighthouse of the mind. It was supposed to project light up through the Sea of Echoes to keep the world from becoming lost in its own past. Without the core, the city is just a hollow shell."They climbed the spiraling staircase of the lighthouse, their breath echoing in the vast, empty chamber. At the very top, they found a pedestal that matched the base of the glass sphere. Beside the pedestal stood a figure made of bronze and clockwork, holding a staff. The figure was frozen in place, its gears rusted and silent."That must be the Last Sentinel," Felix said. He approached the bronze man and saw a small inscription on his chest. It read: The light requires a witness who remembers the future.Felix realized that the city hadn't just lost its power; it had lost its purpose. People had stopped looking forward, and as they focused more and more on their memories, the Sea of Echoes had grown thicker and more suffocating until it eventually buried the city entirely. He took the glass sphere from his bag and held it up."What are you doing?" Juno asked. "The sphere didn't just have a map," Felix replied. "It had the hope of everyone who wanted to build something new. It is the only thing that can jumpstart the heart of this place."He placed the sphere into the pedestal. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the bronze sentinel began to creak. His eyes flickered with a soft blue light, and he turned his head toward Felix. The sentinel tapped his staff against the floor, and the glass sphere began to spin. The golden light inside the sphere expanded, pouring into the empty lantern of the lighthouse.A beam of pure, brilliant light shot upward, piercing through the roof of the chamber and rising through the miles of silver water above. As the light passed through the city, the colors returned. The coral turned deep shades of crimson and violet, the crystal towers sparkled with a thousand rainbows, and the air began to hum with a joyful, rhythmic song.From the surface, the Sea of Echoes began to change. The thick silver thinned, turning into clear, blue water as the light cleared away the stagnant memories. The world above would wake up to a brighter sky and a clearer mind.The sentinel bowed to Felix. "Thank you, Diver. The cycle is restored. Orizon will guard the dreams of the world once more.""Does this mean I have to go back to scavenging for old house keys?" Felix asked, looking at Widget."Not likely," Juno said, leaning against the railing. "I think the world is going to need a lot more explorers now that they can actually see the horizon again. And I have a feeling Orizon could use a few more permanent residents."Felix looked out at the city of light and then up toward the surface. He had found his treasure, but it wasn't gold or metal. It was the realization that the best stories aren't the ones we remember, but the ones we have yet to write. He and his friends stayed in the city of Orizon, becoming the new guardians of the deep, ensuring that the light of hope would never again be lost beneath the waves of the past.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Symphony of the Seven Suns, Part 3 of this week's series: The Bureau of Forgotten Miracles.The room was shaking now, the massive gears of the clockwork heart groaning as they tried to turn. The Curator stood back, his lantern swinging wildly in the draft created by the struggling machinery. Minerva held the glowing stone out toward Oliver, the light reflecting in her eyes."You have to be the one to do it, Olly," she said. "The Bureau sent the comet to you. You are the one who still looks at the world like it might surprise you at any second. I have been here too long; I have started to see the patterns instead of the magic."Oliver took the stone. It was hot now, vibrating with a frantic energy that felt like a trapped bird. He looked at the center of the engine, where a small, golden aperture waited. "What happens if I fail? What if I am not enough of a surprise?""Then we all go home and learn to love the color beige," Minerva said. "But I don't think you will fail. You found a comet in a coffee cup and didn't even spill a drop. That is a miracle in itself."Oliver approached the heart. The heat was intense, and the smell of hot metal and ancient dust was overwhelming. He thought about all the things he cataloged every day. The small, forgotten wonders that made life worth living. He thought about the way the sun looked when it hit the library windows in the afternoon, and the way Minerva always knew exactly when he was about to make a mistake. He realized that the miracle wasn't just the magic in the jars; it was the fact that anyone was there to notice it at all."I choose the world," Oliver said, his voice steady. "I choose the mess, the mystery, and the things that don't make sense."He thrust his hand into the aperture and released the stone. For a moment, nothing happened. The grinding sound continued, and the smoke grew thicker. Then, a pulse of pure, golden light erupted from the center of the engine. It wasn't a explosion, but a wave, moving through the room and the hallways, washing over the jars of voices and the shelves of stories.The gears suddenly snapped into place, moving with a silent, fluid grace. The smoke vanished, replaced by a scent that reminded Oliver of rain on hot pavement and fresh peppermint. The engine began to sing, a deep, resonant hum that felt like it was vibrating in his very bones. The room was flooded with the light of seven miniature suns that had ignited within the core of the heart, each one a different, impossible color.The Curator let out a long, shaky breath. "Well. That was certainly efficient. The miracle levels are back to peak capacity. You might want to get back to the surface before the library opens. Things are going to be a bit... unpredictable for a while.""How unpredictable?" Minerva asked, already checking her scanner, which was now displaying a series of dancing rainbows."Expect rainbows in the puddles, even when there is no sun," the Curator said, waving them toward the elevator. "And tell the Director that I need more ink. It is going to be a busy century."Oliver and Minerva stepped back into the elevator. As they rose toward the surface, the silence was no longer heavy; it was full of potential. When they stepped out into the library, the morning sun was just beginning to peek through the windows. Oliver looked at his hand, which still had a faint, golden glow around the fingertips."So," Minerva said, as they walked back toward their office. "Do you think anyone noticed?"At that moment, a librarian walked past them, carrying a stack of books. She stopped, looked up at the ceiling, and laughed for no apparent reason. A small, blue butterfly made of pure light fluttered out of her hair and vanished into the stacks."I think they might notice a few things," Oliver said, smiling. They returned to their office, and Oliver picked up his coffee cup. The violet glow was gone, and it was just a regular, cold cup of coffee. He dumped it into the sink and sat back down at his desk. The mountain of paperwork was still there, but it didn't seem so daunting anymore. He picked up a pen and began to write, not a report, but a story about a comet and a girl with a toaster-telescope. The Bureau of Forgotten Miracles was open for business, and the world was anything but beige.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Masterpiece of Misfit Metal, Part 3 of this week's series: The Junk-Yard of Infinite Inventions.The basement of the vault was a labyrinth of humming machinery and spinning gears. Leo and Maya ran past massive pistons that moved with the force of a tidal wave, their boots clattering on the grated metal walkways. The compass in Leo’s hand was now glowing a bright, fiery orange, illuminating the path forward."The generator is just ahead," Leo shouted over the roar of the machines. "We just need to find the manual override."They burst into a final chamber that was dominated by a sphere of rotating rings. At the center of the rings was a crystal identical to the needle in Leo’s compass, but it was the size of a beach ball. It was suspended in mid-air, held in place by beams of pure light. This was the heart of the Archive of Anomalies, the source of all the power in the Salt-Flats."There is the console," Maya said, pointing to a terminal covered in dials and levers. She used the gravity gauntlets to push aside a falling piece of debris that had been dislodged by the shaking mountain. "Hurry, Leo! The sentries are right behind us!"Leo scrambled to the terminal. He saw a slot on the dashboard that was exactly the shape of his compass. He understood then that the compass was not just a locator; it was the final component, the key required to communicate with the core. He slid the glass casing into the slot, and the entire room went silent. The spinning rings slowed to a halt, and the blue light of the generator softened into a warm, inviting glow.The mechanical voice returned, but this time it was different. It sounded like the voice of a person, tired but proud. "Identity confirmed. Hello, Leo. I have been waiting for someone to finish the circuit. My name is the Architect, or at least, the digital echo of the man who built this place. The city above forgot that progress requires more than just efficiency; it requires imagination.""We didn't mean to break in," Leo said, his voice echoing in the stillness. "We just wanted to see if the stories were true.""The stories are always true, in a way," the Architect replied. "This vault was not meant to be a tomb. It was meant to be a library for a time when the world was ready to dream again. The sentries were only there to keep out those who would use this power for destruction. But you brought a friend, and you protected each other. That is the first law of any great invention."The lockdown lights turned green, and the heavy doors throughout the facility opened. The Archive was no longer a secret. Leo felt a surge of excitement. He looked at Maya, who was still wearing the silver gauntlets, a grin on her face."So, what do we do now?" she asked. "Do we tell the city?""The city wouldn't know what to do with this place," Leo said, looking at the shelves of forgotten wonders. "No, I think we should stay here for a while. There are thousands of machines that need to be understood, and I think the world could use a few more 'impossible' things right now."They spent the rest of the night exploring the upper levels, finding machines that could clean the air, tools that could repair themselves, and even a small device that played music based on the mood of the listener. The Salt-Flats were no longer a junk-yard to them. It was the foundation of a new era.As the sun rose over the rust-colored mountains, Leo and Maya stood on the ridge outside the vault. The compass was back in Leo’s pocket, silent and still, but the world around them felt vibrant and full of life. They were the new keepers of the infinite inventions, and for the first time in his life, Leo felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be."Ready to get to work?" Maya asked, adjusting her cloak."Absolutely," Leo said. "We have a lot of fixing to do."

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Compass of Cragged Coasts, Part 1 of this week's series: The Junk-Yard of Infinite Inventions.Leo lived in a world where nothing was ever truly thrown away. He resided in the Salt-Flats, a vast expanse of rust and discarded machinery that stretched as far as the eye could see. To most, it was a graveyard of failed ideas, but to Leo, it was a playground of potential. He spent his mornings scanning the horizon for the silhouettes of salvage ships and his afternoons digging through heaps of copper wiring and brass plating. He was looking for the heart of something great, though he did not quite know what that was yet.The air in the flats usually smelled of scorched iron and salt spray, a heavy, metallic scent that stuck to the back of his throat. One afternoon, while prying open a crate that had fallen off a high-altitude freighter, Leo found something that did not belong. It was a compass, but not one meant for navigation. The casing was made of a dark, heavy glass that felt like ice, and the needle was a sliver of translucent crystal that vibrated with a faint, low-frequency hum."Well, you are a strange little thing," Leo muttered, wiping the grime from the glass surface. He held it up to the waning sunlight, and the crystal needle immediately snapped to a point on the horizon where the scrap heaps grew into jagged mountains."I wouldn't touch that if I were you," a voice said from behind him. Leo jumped, nearly dropping the device. Standing on top of a pile of rusted girders was Maya, a scavenger known for finding things that most people stayed away from. She was draped in a cloak made of woven optic fibers that shimmered with a dull, recycled light."It is just a compass, Maya. I have seen dozens of these in the lower pits," Leo replied, trying to regain his composure. He tucked the device into his vest pocket, but he could still feel the vibration against his ribs.Maya jumped down, landing silently on the packed salt. "That is not a compass for north or south, Leo. That is a locator for the Resonance Vault. My grandmother used to tell stories about a place where the inventions that were too strange for the city were buried. They say the vault contains machines that can rewrite the laws of physics, or at least make them into suggestions."Leo looked back at the mountains of scrap. "If this thing is pointing there, then that is where I am going. I am tired of pulling apart old radios and fixing broken heaters. I want to see something that actually works.""It is a long walk, and the sentries in the crags don't like visitors," Maya warned, but she began to check the straps on her boots anyway. "Besides, you will never make it past the first ridge without someone who knows the terrain. I will come with you, but only if we split whatever we find fifty-fifty."Leo grinned, extending his hand. "Deal. But if we find a machine that turns salt into gold, I am keeping the first bar."They set off as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, spindly shadows across the rust. The compass grew warmer as they approached the crags, the crystal needle glowing with a soft, amber light. As they walked, the silence of the flats was replaced by a strange, melodic whistling. The wind was blowing through the hollow pipes and empty shells of the mountains, creating a symphony of accidental music."Do you hear that?" Leo asked, stopping near a pile of discarded turbine blades."It is just the wind, Leo. Keep moving," Maya said, though she gripped her salvage pick a little tighter.The further they climbed, the more the landscape changed. The scrap was no longer just junk; it was organized. They saw rows of perfectly preserved mechanical arms pointing toward the summit, and clusters of glass orbs that flickered with static as they passed. The compass began to pulse in time with Leo’s heartbeat, a steady thrum that seemed to be drawing them toward a massive, iron door embedded in the side of a cliff. There was no handle, no keyhole, and no sign of how to open it."We are here," Leo whispered, holding the compass out toward the door. The crystal needle began to spin wildly, and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. "Now we just have to figure out how to get inside without bringing the whole mountain down on our heads."

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Ledger of Lost Tuesdays, Part 2 of this week's series: The Bureau of Unlikely Occurrences.The basement of the Bureau was not a place for the faint of heart or those with a sensitive sense of smell. it smelled like old library books and damp limestone. Arthur descended the spiral staircase, his shoes still echoing with the remnants of the Hall of Echoes. Every step sounded like a small explosion of musical notes.His task was to organize the Ledger of Lost Tuesdays. You see, every few centuries, a day simply fails to happen. People wake up on Monday and somehow find themselves at Wednesday morning with no memory of the twenty-four hours in between. Those missing days don't just vanish; they get filed away in the basement of the Bureau of Unlikely Occurrences. Lately, the Tuesdays had been getting restless.Arthur reached the bottom of the stairs and saw a flickering light coming from the end of the hall. Standing there was Julian, the basement archivist. Julian had been working at the Bureau since 1924, and since he had technically died in 1956, he was now a very efficient ghost. He was currently trying to catch a floating piece of paper that was darting around his head like a caffeinated butterfly."Arthur! Just in time," Julian called out, his voice thin and airy. "One of the Tuesdays from the fourteenth century has escaped its folder. It is trying to merge with the breakroom. If it succeeds, we will all be eating mutton and worrying about the plague during our lunch break."Arthur grabbed a specialized net made of woven moonlight that hung on the wall. "How did it get out, Julian?""The coffee," Julian said, looking pointedly at the ceiling. "The vibrations from Hank’s drink reached all the way down here. It shook the filing cabinets. Now, the Tuesdays are agitated. They want to be experienced. They want to exist."Arthur chased the rogue piece of paper into the breakroom. The room was already changing. The modern microwave was slowly transforming into a stone hearth, and the scent of woodsmoke began to replace the smell of burnt popcorn."Come here, you stubborn day," Arthur muttered. He lunged with the net, but the piece of paper ducked under a table."You cannot catch time with a net," the Tuesday whispered. It didn't have a mouth, but the words appeared in Arthur’s mind like ink on a page. "I was a lovely Tuesday. There was a festival in a small village. People danced. They ate honey cakes. Why must I stay in a dusty folder?"Arthur stopped. He sat down on a chair that was halfway between plastic and oak. "I know it seems unfair. But if you go out there now, you will disrupt the flow of everything. You will make people forget their appointments and their birthdays. The world is built on a sequence. If you jump back in, the sequence breaks."The piece of paper fluttered down and landed on the table. "It is lonely in the ledger. We all talk to each other, but it is not the same as being felt by the sun.""I can offer you a compromise," Arthur said, remembering a trick Hank had taught him. "I can move you to the Special Collection. It is a room with a window that looks out onto the edge of the world. You won't be back in the stream of time, but you will be able to see the light change."The Tuesday seemed to consider this. The room stopped its transformation. The stone hearth flickered and turned back into a microwave."The Special Collection has a view?" the Tuesday asked."The best view in the Bureau," Julian added, appearing in the doorway. "You can see the stars being born and the moments before a rainstorm starts. It is much better than a basement folder."The piece of paper floated into the net willingly. Arthur carefully carried it back to the filing room. Julian opened a heavy iron door at the back of the hall. Inside was a small, cozy room with a large bay window. Outside the window, colors shifted and swirled in a beautiful, silent dance of cosmic energy.Arthur placed the Tuesday on a velvet cushion near the glass. The paper glowed with a soft, contented warmth."One down, several hundred to go," Julian sighed, looking at the long rows of filing cabinets that were still shaking slightly. "But we have a bigger problem. The coffee wasn't just loud, Arthur. It was a beacon. Something from the outside has noticed the Bureau. Something that deals with the ultimate balance.""You mean an Auditor?" Arthur asked, his stomach doing a nervous flip."Exactly," Julian said. "The Council of Infinite Paperwork is sending someone to check our books. And they don't like it when Tuesdays get moved to rooms with views. They don't like it when interns go on coffee runs through the Void. They like everything to be exactly where it belongs, even if where it belongs is nowhere."As Julian spoke, a loud knock echoed from the floor above. It wasn't a normal knock. It sounded like a giant gavel hitting a marble floor."He is here," Julian whispered. "And he sounds very, very grumpy."Arthur looked at the Tuesday on its cushion, then at the ghost of his friend. He realized that being an intern was about to get a lot more complicated than just filing and fetching drinks. He had to go back upstairs and face the Auditor.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Horizon of Return, Part 3 of this week's series: The Chronos Compass of Azure Deep.The Guardian didn't attack. It simply drifted alongside the ship, its massive fins creating ripples in the silver water that looked like liquid mercury. Callum stepped to the edge of the railing, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt no fear, only a strange sense of recognition. The creature’s eyes weren't filled with malice, but with a weary, eternal patience."It wants to know why we are here," Mara whispered, her hand resting on the hilt of her cutlass. "Not we," Callum said, stepping onto the crystalline rocks of the spire. "Me."He climbed the jagged path toward the summit. The air here was thin and tasted of cold mountain peaks. When he reached the top, he found the Chronos Compass. It was a beautiful, intricate sphere of interlocking rings, humming with a soft, melodic vibration. Beside it, etched into the stone, was a message in a handwriting Callum knew better than his own.To find the way forward, one must acknowledge the way back.Callum took the broken watch from his pocket. He realized now that the watch hadn't broken; it had been waiting for these exact coordinates in space and time. He placed the watch into the center of the Chronos Compass. The rings began to spin, the brass gears clicking into place. A beam of golden light shot upward, piercing the turquoise ceiling of the vortex.The Guardian let out a low, resonant boom that vibrated in Callum’s very bones. The silver water began to glow, and images began to form within the pool. He saw his father, not as a young man, but as a traveler on a distant shore, living in a place where time flowed differently. His father looked up, as if sensing Callum’s presence across the vast expanse of the Deep."He’s safe," Callum whispered, a single tear tracing a path through the salt on his cheek. "He chose to stay to protect the other side of the gate."The compass didn't just show the past; it offered a choice. Callum could turn the dial and bring his father back, or he could use the compass to stabilize the shifting seas of the world, preventing other families from being separated by the chaotic tides. He looked down at Thorne and Mara on the deck of the Cinder Queen. He looked at the vast, beautiful, and dangerous ocean that had defined his life."The sea needs its rhythm back," Callum said. He turned the dial of the compass, locking the rings into a new configuration. The golden beam widened, spreading across the silver water and out through the walls of the whirlpool. The Maw of Ages began to dissolve, the violent currents smoothing out into a calm, predictable swell. The images of the past faded, replaced by the clear, honest blue of the morning sky.The Cinder Queen rose on the new tide. The Guardian gave one final, graceful breach before disappearing into the depths, its duty fulfilled. The ship was no longer a glowing arrow, but it felt lighter, swifter."The map is gone," Thorne observed, looking at the empty parchment in Callum’s hand. "We don't need it anymore," Callum replied, looking at his watch. The hands were moving now, ticking steady and true. "The world is right again. We can find our own way home."They sailed back toward Port Omen under a sky filled with stars that finally stayed in one place. Callum knew he might never see his father again in person, but he felt the connection between them in every steady tick of the watch. He had gone looking for a man and found a purpose. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, painting the waves in shades of gold and pink, Callum took the wheel from Mara.The Azure Deep was no longer a graveyard of dreams, but a vast, open book waiting for new stories to be written. And Callum, with his ticking watch and his steady hand, was ready to write the next chapter.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Iron Peaks and the Weaver of Shadows, Part 3 of this week's series: The Echoes of Aetheria.The transition from the salt spray of the ocean to the biting cold of the Iron Peaks was brutal. Kalen and Lyra traded their sea gear for furs and iron-shod walking sticks. The mountains were jagged teeth of granite, biting at a gray and heavy sky. Here, the air was thin, and the silence was not peaceful; it was a heavy cloak of fear that made every shadow look like a lurking monster."The people in the valleys below have stopped climbing," Lyra said, her breath hitching in the cold. "They stay in their houses with the doors bolted. They have forgotten that the dark is just the absence of light."They reached the summit of the tallest peak, where a fortress of black iron stood. There were no guards, for no one was brave enough to approach. Inside the great hall, they found a man sitting on a throne of cold metal. He was the Weaver of Shadows, a king who had traded the sun for a crown of obsidian. In his lap lay a small lantern, its glass frosted over and its wick cold."You cannot have it," the King said, his voice a hollow echo. "If I release the Echo of Courage, the people will see me for what I am. They will see that I am small and afraid. As long as they are more afraid than I am, I am their King.""A king who rules over a graveyard of spirits is no king at all," Kalen replied, stepping forward. He could feel the cold from the lantern radiating across the room, a frost that sought to settle in his bones."The lantern is broken," the King sneered. "I dropped it when the shadows first spoke to me. The flame is dead."Kalen didn't look at the King. He looked at the lantern. He saw that the hinge was jammed with frozen tears and the wick was buried in the soot of old regrets. He knelt on the stone floor and pulled a small vial of oil from his bag. It was oil pressed from the seeds of a sun-flower that had grown in the center of a desert."I do not need to fight you," Kalen said to the King. "I only need to fix what you broke."Kalen worked quickly, his fingers numbing in the unnatural cold. He cleaned the soot from the glass with a cloth dipped in salt water. He forced the hinge open, the metal screaming in protest until it finally gave way. He trimmed the wick and poured in the golden oil."I have no flint," Kalen whispered to Lyra. "The Silver Lute. Play the note of the sunrise."Lyra pulled the lute from her back and struck a chord that sounded like the first light hitting a field of snow. The vibration of the music caught the oil in the lantern. A small, defiant spark appeared on the wick. It grew into a steady, warm flame that cut through the darkness of the hall like a knife.The Weaver of Shadows shielded his eyes and fell from his throne, his obsidian crown shattering on the floor. As the light of the lantern grew, the shadows retreated, and the heavy fear that had gripped the mountains lifted. Down in the valleys, people opened their shutters and looked at the stars without trembling."It is done," Lyra said, her face illuminated by the golden glow.Kalen stood up, holding the lantern high. He felt a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the fire. The world outside the window was changing. The grays were turning to deep purples, and the horizon was beginning to glow with a vibrant, neon pink that signaled the return of the world’s true colors.They traveled back to Driftwood, not as heroes, but as two people who had simply reminded the world how to breathe. Kalen returned to his shop, where Jasper the cat was still sleeping in the exact same sunbeam. But now, the sunbeam was a brilliant, shimmering gold, and the clocks in the shop ticked with a joyous, steady heart."What will you do with the map?" Kalen asked as Lyra prepared to leave."There are more Echoes," she said, smiling. "The Echo of Laughter is hidden in a canyon of echoes, and the Echo of Dreams is at the bottom of a forest of glass. I think I’ll need a restorer for those, too."Kalen looked at his tools, then at the bright, beautiful world outside his door. He picked up his satchel and followed her out into the morning light.