The Cartographer's Council
Beneath a tent stitched from seven clan banners, the guides of the Aythari sit in uneasy silence. You unroll the bone-charts, lay out the ochre lines, and speak of singing sand and shrines that walked away.
An elder weeps. A younger guide laughs in disbelief. The route, you tell them, is alive — or something beneath it dreams and drags the desert in its wake. The clans must choose: follow, or be forgotten.
All eyes turn to you, Khaleen. The compass is in your hand.