Among the drifting clouds, a lone crab wandered not on sand, but upon vaporized waves. Tired of the salt, it aspired to discover the horizon’s secret whispers – the echoes of tales long forgotten.
Sheltered within a cloud, the crab found a seashell, masked by mist and cloudbeard. To the world’s surprise, it spoke in verses archaic, an echo of an echo, as if the shell remembered legends like a father remembers his son’s dreams.
"Step forth brave tidewalker and heed," it began, "for every echo tells a story, and every story finds its step in the clouds."
The crab set its eyes on the celestial expanse, contemplating its journey marked not by land, but by ephemeral waypoints etched in strewn vapors. What tales would the heroic seaborn herald?