Legacy Forged

The Silver Claw territory’s sacred ridge glowed under a dawn kissed by the first light of a waxing crescent moon, its faint silver arc a tender promise above a sky streaked with rose and gold. The ridge was a hallowed crest, its granite spine rising above a valley of rolling meadows, where wildflowers—lupine, aster, and goldenrod—swayed in vibrant waves, their petals glistening with dew, exhaling a sweet, musky fragrance that mingled with the earthy richness of damp soil and the crisp tang of pine from distant groves. A narrow trail wound up the ridge, its packed earth soft underfoot, scattered with smooth pebbles that caught the dawn in prismatic flecks. At the summit, a circle of standing stones stood, their surfaces weathered but proud, etched with ancient runes—now free of the Iron Veil’s iron taint—glowing faintly with a warm, golden light, a heartbeat of renewal. The air was cool, vibrant with life, carrying the distant gurgle of a creek and the soft trill of morning birds, thei