The River Thames whispered secrets to those who truly listened. Its tides swallowed history — lockets, coins, forgotten rings —only to return them when the time was right. The river was a storyteller, bursting, threading together the lives of those who dared to seek its mysteries.
Jasper, a magpie with obsidian feathers that shimmered like liquid night, knew this well. Perched atop a rusted lamppost, he scanned the glistening, mud-slick shore. He had learned the language of light — the way the sun ignited treasures buried beneath layers of silt.
And — there it was.
Jasper dove, wings slicing the crisp air, claws skimming damp stones. He pecked away the mud, revealing something small yet magnificent — crown, no larger than a teacup, lined with tiny gemstones, its frame interwoven with delicate brass gears. A machine frozen in time.
He nudged it with his beak. A faint ticking stirred within.
A clockwork.
Jasper let out a delighted chirp. This was no mere trinket — it was a story begging to be told.
“Well,” came a voice, smooth as oil on water.
Jasper fluffed his feathers. From beneath an overturned boat, Monty the Rat slunk forward, beady eyes gleaming.
“That’s quite the find,” Monty mused. “I saw it first,” Jasper countered.
Monty smirked. “And yet, who has the paws to carry it?” Jasper scoffed. “This belonged to someone important. A prince.” Monty’s tail flicked. “Or just some rich fool who dropped it.”
The crown pulsed in Jasper’s grasp, humming with a life of its own. As he lifted it, the world shifted.
The air thickened. The river hushed. The light bent as though time itself held its breath.
Then –
A figure flickered into existence.
A boy. Pale as moonlight, shimmering like candle flame. His coat, regal velvet, fluttered with an age beyond measure. Hands — transparent, trembling — reached forward, not for Jasper, but for the crown.
Dark eyes locked onto the magpies. “A ghost.”
The boy’s voice was as wind over water. “My father’s invention… lost to time. Will you return it?”
Jasper’s claws tightened. The crown ticked with secrets, whispering of kingdoms forgotten, power lost and found. Yet — the boy’s eyes held a plea.
Treasures were never meant to be taken.
Jasper exhaled and placed the crown in the boy’s hands.
The moment they connected, the air shuddered. A burst of golden light spiraled, gears clicking, whirring—time itself rewinding. Hum filled the world, a song of magic and memory.
Then — silence.
The boy was gone. The crown was gone.
Only the river remained, whispering against the stones.
Jasper blinked, his heart hammering.
Monty exhaled. “Well. That was unexpected.” Jasper watched the river, its surface smooth, unbroken. “Not all treasures are meant to be kept,” he murmured.
The tide would rise soon, reclaiming the shore. But Jasper wasn’t disappointed. He glimpsed something greater than gold — history itself, freed.
With one last glance at the river, he spread his wings and soared into the sky, his soul full.
The End
Written by Pramit Saha from Snohomish, WA
