The tavern fell silent.
"What did you say, old man?" barkeep Darrin demanded.
The traveler ignored him and limped toward Aric's table. His cloak smelled of smoke and sea-salt, and beneath it, a chain of silver charms clinked softly.
"You heard it, didn't you?" the man whispered, leaning close. "The song beneath the thunder."
Aric froze. No one else had spoken of the sound. "How do you know?"
"Because it called to me once," the stranger said, pulling back his hood. His face was lined with scars, his left eye clouded white. "The Fang is no stone. It is a prison. And prisons do not hold forever."
The villagers muttered uneasily. Mira reached for Aric's arm, but the stranger grabbed his wrist first. His grip was strong, almost desperate.
"When the chains break, boy, you will be at the center of it. Flee, if you have sense. But if you do not—" His voice faltered, as though a shadow crossed his tongue. "—then may the gods forgive you."