[EVENT Ch1 - Story] Faramond and the Mystery of Shimmering Cove

The dawn broke softly across Isla Pera, painting the sky in pinks and oranges as if the heavens themselves were awakening with curiosity. The salty wind stirred through the tall grasses, and the first cries of seabirds echoed across the cliffs.
In a sheltered grove not far from the coast, a young Styracosaurus stirred. They called him Faramond, and he was known among his herd for his insatiable curiosity and boundless energy. His cream-colored hide bore swirling tan and pale cream patterns, and his small horn growths glinted a soft blue in the sunlight. His frill bore striking patterns, giving him the look of a walking painting.

Faramond was small for his age, not yet grown into his horns or his strength, but his spirit was enormous. Where others were cautious, he was bold. Where others stuck to well-worn trails, he leapt to explore the unknown.
That morning, he remembered the whispers he had overheard from the elders the night before.

“Unfamiliar faces…” one elder had murmured.

“They dig in the ground… planting seeds that do not belong…” another added gravely.

“And not just anywhere,” said a third. “Reports come from across the islands.”

The herd had shaken their heads, muttering worries about strangers meddling in places they should not. Faramond’s heart had beat faster with each word. His mind was already painting pictures of adventure, danger, and discovery.
“Strangers,” he whispered to himself, eyes wide. “Planting seeds? What seeds? Why?” The thought plagued him through the night until sleep carried him away. Now, as dawn stretched across the horizon, he knew what he had to do.
“I’ll find out,” he declared, shaking himself awake. “If no one else will, I’ll investigate!”
And with a bounce in his step and a flick of his tail, little Faramond set off toward Shimmering Cove, the place the elders had named as one of the stranger’s haunts. It wasn’t long before the sound of the surf guided Faramond to the eastern coastline. The air grew heavy with salt, the cries of gulls grew sharper, and the ground beneath his feet shifted from earth to sand.

Then he saw it: Shimmering Cove.

It was more beautiful than he could have imagined. Rainbow-colored salt rocks, as if carved from living gems, lined the shallow pool. The rocks sparkled in every shade imaginable: emerald green, fiery red, sapphire blue, reflecting the sun’s rays in a dazzling array of color.
Between the rocks lay soft white sand, so smooth it looked like clouds fallen to the earth. Small rainbow pebbles glittered like stars scattered across the ground. The pool itself shimmered with a magical stillness, its surface reflecting the sky like a mirror. Tiny saltwater trout darted in playful flashes of silver, while crabs scuttled sideways in and out of tidepools. A group of snails and starfish clung lazily to rocks near the shallows, content in the warmth of the tide.
Faramond gasped in delight. “Ohhh… it is like a dream!”
He bounded forward, claws pressing gently into the soft sand. He dipped his snout into the warm water, letting the salty taste tickle his tongue. The warmth seeped into his legs, soothing the stiffness from his long walk. He thought of the elders’ tales,  that this water healed creaky joints. Perhaps that was true, though he was far too young to need such healing. For a moment, he simply basked in the beauty. But then a strange smell prickled his nose. Faramond froze, his nostrils flaring. He knew this place smelled of salt, fish, seaweed, and crabs. But this… this was different. It smelled… earthy. Metallic. Wrong.

“Hmm…” Faramond muttered, lowering his head. He pawed at the sand with one hoof, uncovering a faint line of disturbance, like something had been dragged across it.

Then his eyes widened. There, pressed into the soft ground, was a footprint. Not just any footprint. A three-toed print, slender and clawed.
Faramond’s frill rattled in excitement. “Must be Oviraptors!” he squeaked. He had seen their tracks before, usually near nests. They were quick-footed, feathered dinosaurs with sharp beaks. But what were they doing here, far from their foraging grounds? He followed the prints carefully, his little legs crunching softly on the sand. They led toward a cluster of rainbow salt rocks, their crystals glittering like jewels. And there, nestled in the sand, were tiny green seeds. The seeds glistened unnaturally, as though covered in dew, though the air was dry. They were small, round, and faintly glowing, as if some hidden light lived inside them. One seed had already sprouted. A thin, wiry stem poked from the sand, shimmering faintly with iridescent light. Its tiny leaves looked sharp, almost crystalline, reflecting the rainbow hues of the cove itself.
Faramond tilted his head. “These seeds don’t seem to belong here,” he muttered. “No such thing grows in this sand.”

He sniffed the sprout. The smell made him sneeze so hard he stumbled backward into a pile of pebbles. “Blegh!” he exclaimed, shaking his horns. The sprout gave off a strange metallic tang, unlike anything he had smelled on the island. He didn’t have long to ponder. A soft flutter caught his attention. Drifting down from above, a feather landed gently across his nose. Faramond froze. It was dark; almost black, long and striped, shimmering faintly in the sunlight. An Oviraptor feather. Fresh.

“They’re here…” Faramond whispered, excitement and fear mingling in his voice.

From the far side of the cove, a shadow shifted. Faramond crouched low behind a cluster of rocks, peeking over them with wide eyes. An Oviraptor emerged from the shadows. Its feathers on its arms shimmered in shades of teal, blue, and green. In its beak, it carried a pouch made of woven reeds, bulging with more of those strange seeds. It looked around nervously before scurrying to the sand. With careful movements, it dug into the ground, planted a few seeds, and patted the soil down. Then it dipped a shell into the tidepool and sprinkled water over the spot. Faramond’s eyes widened. So they weren’t just dropping seeds; they were deliberately planting them, tending to them as though this was a ritual. Oviraptor kept disappearing and appearing, working silently and swiftly. Their claws worked in unison, their feathers rustling in the breeze. Faramond’s heart raced. He had found them, the Strangers! He leaned too far over the rocks, his horn scraping against the crystal surface with a loud crack. The Oviraptor froze. Two pairs of eyes snapped toward his hiding spot. For a moment, the cove was silent except for the gentle lap of waves. Then the Oviraptor screeched. In an instant, they scattered, feathers flying, seeds spilling from their pouches. Faramond bolted after them. His little legs pumped furiously, claws throwing up sand as he gave chase. “Wait! What are you doing here?!” he bellowed, though he doubted Oviraptor understood his words. The Oviraptor dashed toward the rocky cliffs, slipping between narrow crevices too small for him to follow. It dropped its pouch in its panic, spilling seeds across the sand. Faramond skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, his frill flaring wide in frustration.

“I almost had them…” he panted.

When he returned to the pool, the shimmering sprouts were still there, glowing faintly among the rainbow rocks. But now he saw something else. The sand around them had begun to change. It was no longer soft and white. Instead, it was hardening into crystal-like crusts, spreading outward like veins from the sprouts. The once-pure sand was becoming something alien, something unnatural. Faramond shivered. Whatever these strangers were planting, it wasn’t safe. He nosed at the spilled pouch Oviraptor had dropped. Seeds rolled out, glowing faintly. He pawed at them nervously but didn’t dare taste them.

“These don’t belong here,” he whispered.

For a long moment, he stood still, listening to the waves, the cries of gulls, and the distant echo of the Oviraptors retreating into the cliffs. Finally, he lifted his head.

“I have to tell the others,” he said firmly. His playful spirit was still alive, but now tempered with the weight of what he had seen.

The seeds, the sprouts, the Oviraptor; they were all connected. This was bigger than him, maybe even bigger than Shimmering Cove itself. The strangers started to change the island, one hidden plant at a time. And Faramond, curious, playful, adventurous, had stumbled upon the beginning of a mystery that could shape the fate of Isla Pera itself. As he turned to leave, the sunlight caught the sprouts, and their glow seemed to pulse faintly, as though alive. Faramond shivered once more.

“This might be just the beginning,” he whispered, before trotting back toward the grove.

Little did he know that the adventure had only just begun.