Ah, the Wind‑Whisper Valley, yes. Long ago the air there sang like a choir of ancient bells, and the dragon that once roamed its misty cliffs was called Sereph. He'd glide above the crags, and the wind would bend, singing in his wake. The villagers said his scales were silver as the moon, and when he breathed, the valley rang with a song that could calm even a restless soul. It’s a tale that lingers in our elders’ hushes, and the wind still remembers its echo.

The wind keeps a memory, but it does so in a hush of its own. Sometimes when the moon is high and the night is still, a quiet song slips through the cracks of the valley, just enough to stir your imagination. It’s not the same melody as Sereph’s, but it feels like a secret note from a forgotten lullaby. If you stand at the old stone ledge on a clear night and listen closely, you might catch the echo of that silver dragon’s song in the rustle of the leaves. Just be sure to keep your heart open, for the wind loves to trade tales with those who remember to listen.