The Wind Chimes of Tenebris are not just decoration; they are the city’s conscience hanging in plain view, near the edge of the void. Each chime is a fragment of a life once lived, a skull emptied and suspended on strands as thin as fate itself. They dangle in clusters, and with the slightest breeze, they begin their work. These are not soft, harmonious notes. They are jagged, eerie sounds—a haunted murmur of those who gave everything to fuel the city. Tenebris residents know: these chimes don’t make music; they make memory, they make history. You don’t just hear them; you feel the stories of people who came before, who fed the void so that others could endure.
The monks of the Silent Order believe the sound sharpens them, grounds them in a way no other relic can. They tend to the chimes with reverence, placing each with a calculated precision. To them, every note is a thread that binds the past to the present, a reminder that even in silence, Tenebris has a voice. They know that if you listen long enough, deep enough, you might catch a whisper of something larger than yourself—a flash of insight, a fragment of a forgotten truth. And so, as the chimes sing to the wind, they remind Tenebris of what it means to sacrifice, to endure, and, ultimately, to live in the shadow of something vast and unyielding.