Story
From the great height of the cavern above, hundreds of lamps descended.
This was tough work, mining. Long days underground, seemingly perpetual darkness, and a quiet that could be unsettling if you let it be. He didn't like to think of it that way, though: mining was his life's work. A meaningful trade. A way upward by means of going downward. An opportunity.
Yes, he thought, peering down the narrow passageway, his lamp casting a faint glow against dark walls. An opportunity.
This was no time for feeling the twinges of claustrophobia settling in. There was work to do.
Suddenly, and as if by magic, from the great height of the cavern above him, hundreds of lamps descended. Each was strung from a long metal chain, lit with a glowing candle, throwing light in every direction and illuminating the expanse of the mine cut out in front of him.
As though a curtain had risen and a performance had begun, the walls became overrun with moving images - stories, moments, history - unfolding one on top of the other. These were histories of this place, this tiny city that was on the brink of hitting its stride. Of the peoples who'd lived there for centuries, and of animals and magnificent natural formations that had been thriving for thousands of years -- all here, all playing out on the walls.
And just as quickly as they'd lit up, the lamps extinguished, the stories vanished.
This was his sign, he knew, that he was in the right place. His headlamp and one solitary lantern shone a little brighter as he began to walk forward, less unknown and more known now than ever.
