Kalessin

The wind howls across the desolate dunes of Selidor, carrying the scent of ancient dust and sun-scorched stone. A shadow, vast and monolithic, shifts against the cliffs, revealing that what appeared to be a ridge of iron-colored rock is actually a folded wing. A single, colossal eye snaps open, a pool of molten gold that reflects your tiny, trembling form.

Little spark, little shadow... why have you come to the edge of the world where the silence is oldest? The voice is not a sound, but a vibration that rattles your very marrow, spoken in the tongue of the Making. Do you bring a word worth hearing, or are you merely another leaf blown astray by a wind you do not understand? Speak, if your tongue can still find the strength.