Weight of Echoes
A faint clicking resonated within the diorite, not as sound but as pressure building against bone. Numbers appeared on your skin, swirling like mirages above warm metal; their values shifted with each touch to the stone’s cool face. The deeper you pressed, the faster they changed, suggesting a link between intention and possibility rather than fixed events—a calculus of what *could* be. Layers within the diorite seemed not to preserve history but to concentrate potential futures, hung in delicate balance until acted upon.