Track 20: Tomb of Primeval Kings

Track 20: Tomb of Primeval Kings rests on my desk, a slender slab of tempered obsidian crowned with gold filigree. Its face is a velvet-black mirror, etched with a procession of kings stepping down a stair into shadow, their crowns catching candlelight and letting it bleed into the creases of the stone. A narrow groove along the edge holds a parchment-like label, pale as bone, bearing the name in thin, careful script. The texture is cool and smooth at first, then grainy under your fingertips, like weathered clay that has learned the secrets of a tomb. When you tilt it, the runes along the border glow a subtle amber, as if the track itself is listening to the quiet breath of a sealed chamber. The relic nods to the Primeval Kings of Orr, rulers whose decayed banners still whisper through siege-scarred corridors and collapsed stairwells. It is a music token, yes, but the lore threads through it—an invitation to imagine the long, echoing halls where kings once walked, and where a melody could coax memory back to life. In practice, Track 20 becomes a doorway rather than a decoration. Activate it, and a measured chant rises, a low bell and drum that pull you toward the tomb’s imagined threshold. The music doesn’t roar; it hums, curling around your ears like incense smoke in a stone chamber. It’s the kind of track that suits late-night explorations, or a quiet moment before a raid where you want the world to feel older than the present moment. Players often pair it with other tracks to compose a lush, narrative atmosphere—a sonic campfire at the edge of a ruin, a lullaby for the ghosts who linger at the corners of memory. Its value isn’t only in the sound; it’s in the story you tell while listening, in the way it nudges your party to pause and listen for footsteps that might be more than your own. Market chatter, of course, follows the usual rhythm of legends: a track like this circulates in niche circles before touching broader shelves. Saddlebag Exchange, the marketplace where collectors swap whispers and artifacts, is where I first spotted Track 20’s price board. It sits between tarnished relics and other kingly motifs, priced with a guard’s caution and a scholar’s curiosity. Last I checked, it hovered around a few gold, depending on season and demand, with a few steely-eyed bidders willing to push a little higher. For a storyteller at heart, that fluctuation only adds to the charm: you buy not just a sound, but a key to a chamber you’ll return to again and again. Track 20: Tomb of Primeval Kings is more than a collectible; it is a bookmark in a larger chronicle, a reminder that even in digital streets and emerald skies, memory can be shaped, tuned, and carried like a relic through the march of time. Every time I tuck Track 20 back into the pouch, I hear the corridor again—the memory of those kings guiding a new expedition, a reminder that sound can be a map as much as sight.