I glide without wheels through streets made of waves, or hang from a cable with mountain views to gaze. One rides the water, one rides the sky, both carry travelers passing by.

In realms where dragons dance and emperors reign, thou art the stone of sages and sovereigns, a gleam 'midst gossamer dreams, whispering wealth and wisdom and an ever sheen

Whisper of the waves, Luck's curved golden horn in sand, Holds ocean's secrets.

I am filled with numbers yet solve nothing. I divide the endless into neat pieces. I hold what has passed and hint at what’s next, Though I never move an inch. I’m replaced again and again, But the marks I make still shape lives. What am I?

Carved from cold and cunning craft, a sleek sliver that slices shadows, whispered by witches in the heart of night.