The wind had no scent.
Not like rain or dust or fire.
It just moved — soft and empty — like it had forgotten how to carry anything real.
I stood on the edge of what used to be a city.
The buildings looked tired.
So did the earth.
I adjusted the strap on my shoulder — the one that held my cloth bag — and climbed down through the broken stones. I don't know what I was looking for, not exactly. I never do. I just… walk. And sometimes the world gives me something.
Today, it was a bell.
I found it half-buried beneath rubble, glinting faintly like it still wanted to be seen. Small, handmade, and missing its voice — no clapper inside.
But I liked the way it fit in my palm. Cold, but not unfriendly.
I wiped the dust off gently with the sleeve of my coat.
"You're still beautiful," I whispered.
---
I carried it down the hill, through shattered streets and moss-covered glass. Everything was quiet except the soft sound of my footsteps, and the wind threading through holes in metal.
Eventually, I reached the chapel.
It was half-eaten by ivy and broken in the middle, like someone had tried to fold it in two. The tower was long gone — just a pile of rocks now.
But I remembered this place.
Not from my life… not exactly.
The world remembers things through me.
I don't question it anymore.
---
I placed the bell on a flat stone near what used to be the doorway.
Not high up. Not ceremoniously.
Just where the sun might touch it at the right time of day.
Then I sat beside it.
I didn't say anything. I just closed my eyes and listened.
Not for sounds.
Not really.
More like… for presence.
I don't know how to explain it, but sometimes the world feels full.
Like it's holding its breath.
Waiting.
---
"If I treat it like it's still alive," I whispered,
"Maybe it'll remember how to breathe."
The wind shifted, brushing softly against my cheek. And for just a second, I thought I heard something.
Footsteps.
Small. Light. Behind me.
I turned.
Nothing.
Only the sky, painted with ash.
Only the bell.
Only me.
But when I looked down at my hand…
There was a petal.
Soft pink. Still warm.
I didn't smile. Not yet.
But I kept it.