The village elder spoke in hushed tones, his eyes glowing like amber relics in the dark. He knew the stories—carried within generations stacked like wood for a winter fire. One such tale spoke of a talon, sharp and fierce, hidden within the ancient crags outside of their settlement.
"To find the talon is to unlock the path of whispers," he would mutter, "a journey guided only by the light of broken horizons and fading stars."
Many sought the secret starlit map, rolled and aged behind granite veils, a cartographer’s last elusive creation. Rumor had it that only those with a heart matched in purpose and a mind anchored in resolve could translate the winding routes and encoded symbols written in the language of shadows.
But, the discovery of the talon was not an end, rather a beginning—the key in the lock that awakened the dormant winds. It was said that whoever held the talon could touch lost moments of time, hearing the echoes of a thousand unspoken tales.