The face was a wrinkled, wizened one—parchment skin. It was an old man.

He peered at them. "Is that you, Eren?" he croaked. In one hand, he held a wooden cane, with which he precariously balanced. In the other hand he had a drinking flask.

"Uncle Pixis!" Eren cried. He dashed forward and gave the man a hug. "You scared us! We didn't hear you coming.

"Yes, well, mm, you know, the rocks. They were just too noisy," Uncle Pixis mumbled, "So chatty today. Old stories, they've been telling. Tales I haven't heard for many years…."

"Uncle Pixis, can I introduce you to my friend Krista?"

He led the old man forward, towards Historia. "Pleased to meet you," she said, and curtsied—though the gesture was no doubt lost in the faint luminescent light.

"Ah, I say. Is that a lady friend that Eren has brought into these mines? My old eyes don't work so well anymore," Uncle Pixis said.

"She's a friend who's a lady, she's not a lady friend," Eren explained.

Uncle Pixis shook his head. "First, they start recruiting the kids to be miners, next the women! Soon we're gonna have babies and puppies down here with pick-axes."

Historia giggled. "It's okay, I'm not a miner," she said. "Eren was just… showing me around."

"Ah, I see, I see," Pixis said. He took a drink from his flask. "Eren, you sly dog."

"What? No!" Eren spluttered. "Whatever you're thinking, it's wrong."

"Oh, no need to explain," Uncle Pixis said. Historia saw him wink at Eren in the dim light. "I used to show my lady friends around the mines too… if ya know what I mean. That was back in my younger days. My, my. Yes... I used to be quite the spelunker."

There was a moment of silence in the cave. Eren's face went through the five stages of grief. "I wish I could unhear that," he muttered to himself. "I really, really wish I could unhear that."

"So!" Uncle Pixis said. "What brings you two down into the caves? And what're you up to, that's making the rocks so chatty?"

"Chatty?" Historia asked. "What do you mean?" A part of her wondered if he was talking about the voices, the little whispers that she'd been hearing.

"Well." Pixis took a long swig and then tapped the side of his head. "You know, ever since my eyes stopped working, my ears have been hearing more and more. And the rocks, they like to gossip, you know. Then all of a sudden, I'm minding my own business, and they start shouting, real loudly. And I follow all the noise and commotion, and that's how I got to you."

"It must be the light," Historia said, gazing at the shining rock wall. "Maybe it also makes some kind of sound. But I can't hear anything." She shook her head. "Uncle Pixis, I don't understand. Earlier, I was hearing voices in the cave. I thought I was crazy. Now you say the rocks are loud, but I can't hear anything. What's going on? I don't understand!"

In the corner of her eye, she saw Eren staring at her curiously.

Uncle Pixis leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's because you gotta know how to listen," he said. "Here, come. Let me just sit down for a second. I'll tell you kids a secret about these rocks."

With a heavy sigh, he hobbled over to the side of the cave, his wood cane scraping against the stony floor. Eren helped him down to the ground, where he sat, propped against the wall, and let out a breath of relief. "That's better," he said, then chugged from his flask for five straight seconds.

"Uncle Pixis, you might have a drinking problem," Eren said.

"Nonsense. I've no problem drinking," Pixis replied. "Actually, I'm quite good at it. You might even say I'm an alcoholic." He wrung the last few drops from his flask into his mouth. "Alas. Empty." He tossed the empty flask into the air. It bounced against the far wall and landed in a stalactite pool.

Pixis reached into his coat and drew out a new bottle, twice as large. He took another long swig and smacked his lips. "That really hits the spot," he said. Then he blinked and looked around. "Hold on. Where in the blazes am I? Wait… who am I?" He looked at Eren and Historia. "Who are you?"

"That's Historia, I'm Eren, you're Uncle Pixis, we're in a cave, and you were telling us a secret about rocks," Eren said.

"Oh right. Come on, then, take a seat, children. Let me tell you about aetherium, just as my grandfather told me…"

"…what people don't know is this: we once knew how to harness the power in these rocks. The true power, I mean. I'm not talking about silver or gold or coal—not those worthless metals. The ancients knew how to melt and smith the fine grains, little strands of what was once called aetherium. Aetherium can't be melted with heat, though, that's what makes it so tricky. The mineral degrades if you try that. It only responds to certain frequencies. Lost pitches… alchemical harmonies. Those ancient forgehands who worked with aetherium, they called them the songsmiths. And aetherium is a persistent metal, too, it could store energy for years, decades. Centuries, even. It has a memory."

Uncle Pixis took a drink from his flask. "Even now, the rocks down here echo," he said. "They remember. Tales of the great masterpieces, that's what they speak of. Masterpieces from that age so long ago. The pure aetherium crystals, finest craftwork of the songsmiths. The ancients, they encoded these crystals with great intelligence, layering in memories of spells. And faces, and voices, and emotion."

Uncle Pixis's face had come alive in the faint blue luminescent light, as he told the story. But now he looked sad. "Many years have passed," he said. "The rocks remember. But to us, the forgetful human race. The crystals are long lost. We no longer possess the knowledge of how to craft aetherium."

Quietly…

…Historia reached down and pulled out her necklace. The soft blue stone hummed gently in the center. "Crystals like this?" she asked.

Uncle Pixis turned to gaze at the stone. His old eyes squinted in the light, then widened. He reached one hand forward, then stopped himself, trembling. "My god." He recoiled suddenly, one hand flying to his mouth. "No," he gasped. "No, please, it's terrible!"

"What's wrong, Uncle Pixis?" Eren cried.

Historia drew back, the crystal in her hand still humming, like a pale blue dragonfly.

"Please, put that thing away!" Uncle Pixis said, pressing himself back against the rock wall. "I'm sorry, it's too loud for me…"

Historia tucked the crystal back into her shirt, and after some time, Uncle Pixis stopped trembling. His shaky hands reached for his bottle. "A drink," he croaked. Eren reached forward and brought the flask to his lips. Pixis took a few grateful sips, then sighed in relief.

He looked at Historia. "You carry a terrible burden," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I know."

"You must not let that crystal fall into the wrong hands," Pixis said.

"I know. I know."

"What?" Eren was looking between the two of them in confusion. "What's going on? What are you guys talking about?"

"Eren, my boy," Uncle Pixis grabbed Eren's hand, suddenly. "You must protect the princess at all costs."

"The princess?" Eren said. "How do you know about—who told you—I'm so confused!"

"There are old forces at work here, ancient plans coming to fruition," Pixis said. His eyes shone. "And plans within plans, too. The paths our ancestors took, oh, heavens. Our ancestors, they cast long shadows upon us. We tremble in their footsteps. Their will is like a mighty river. And we must hold tight to one another or be swept away."

"You've finally lost it!" Eren cried. "Historia, we're getting out of here!"

He backed away from Pixis and motioned for her frantically. Historia got to her feet. She smiled at Uncle Pixis as she passed him, though, and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I didn't realize the crystal was so powerful."

Pixis shook his head. "No, it's fine," he said. "It was worth it…." He looked up at her. "Good luck, princess, and remember. The rocks, they're always speaking. You just have to know how to listen."

"Thank you," she whispered. Then she turned back to Eren, who stood framed in the luminescent glow of the cave-rock wall. She reached forward and took his hand. "Lead the way," she said. And they went up through the tunnel, following that shining blue aetherium road as it led them through the mines, up out of the ground, to the air, to the green grass and faint pale sky—so the magic in those rocks always yearns skyward. Longing to break from the earth.

Always upward, always skyward. Some things are born to seek freedom.