I pulled out my old backpack, packed a notebook, a portable charger, and a spare camera. “If this thing is trying to tell us something, I’m going to follow it,” I declared. “But first—”
I turned to the camera, my eyes bright. “I’m going to explain everything as it happens. So if you’re watching, you’ll get the front‑row seat to whatever this is.”
I hit “record” and slipped the box into my bag.
I descended the stairs, my flashlight cutting through the stale air. At the bottom, a stone chamber opened up, walls lined with shelves of glass jars, each containing a swirling, luminescent mist.
In the center stood a pedestal, and atop it, a second brass box—identical to mine, but larger, its surface pulsing with a soft blue light. usepov240610justinejakobsjustineexplains
When I approached, the smaller box in my bag clicked open on its own. A thin, silver filament shot out, spiraling into the larger device. The room filled with a low, resonant tone that vibrated through my bones.
A voice—clear now, not just a whisper—spoke directly into my mind:
“You have been chosen, Justine. To be the bridge between the old and the new. To take the stories of the Keepers and give them voice.”
The mist in the jars swirled faster, forming shapes: scenes of ancient rituals, celestial maps, and people sharing stories around fire. Each one seemed to be a fragment of forgotten history, waiting to be told. I pulled out my old backpack, packed a
I realized then why the device had found me. I was a storyteller, a conduit for hidden truths. The Mouthpiece had chosen the one who could explain.
“Hey, everybody! Justine here. Today I’ve got something… different. I found this in a delivery bag outside my apartment, and I think it might be… well, let’s find out together, shall we?”
I lifted the brass box into the light. Its symbols caught the glow, turning the room a soft amber.
The drive was a montage of winding highways, thick woods, and the occasional tumbleweed. The device sat heavy in my lap, its hum growing louder with every mile. When I finally pulled into Eldermoor, the town was a cluster of weathered houses and a single, flickering sign that read “Welcome to Eldermoor – Population: 12 (and counting)”. I descended the stairs, my flashlight cutting through
I parked outside the only inn, a creaky place called The Whispering Hearth. The proprietor, an elderly woman with silver hair braided into a crown, greeted me with a knowing smile.
“Justine Jakob?” she asked, as if she’d been waiting.
“It’s me,” I replied, pulling the box from my bag. “What does this thing want?”
She took a long sip of tea, then leaned in. “That’s not a box. It’s a Mouthpiece, an artifact from the old Keepers. It’s meant for someone who can listen… and explain.”
My heart hammered. “Explain what?”
She pointed toward the back of the inn, where a narrow staircase led down into darkness. “There’s a room below. The Keeper left a message for you. He knows you can hear it, just as you can tell others what you hear.”