Somewhere beneath the layers of salt and time, legends whisper.
"Hey there, can you hear me? It's been ages since anyone listened," a voice crackled.
Was it the sea? Or perhaps something older, something buried in the depths of memory?
"You know," it continued, "the tales of the Marrow Compass... they once guided many home."
The transmissions are faint but persistent, like echoes from a dream.
"Have you ever seen a compass made of bone? They say it points not to north, but to what truly matters," the voice faded, only to be replaced by static.
"If you seek the truth, follow the lost anchors..."
"We... we used to gather around the fire, sharing these fragments, weaving stories into the night sky," the transmission stuttered.
"Curious, aren't you? There's more to discover, perhaps in the ephemeral tales, or maybe even in the silence itself."