The Watchers Mark

I, the Watcher’s Mark, stood sentinel when the Feathered Guide approached, its crow perched like a crown. Its eyes met mine, glinting with theft’s intent, but I could not stop the heartstone’s fall. The branch-throne crumbled, and I took wing, my shard a beacon in my search. My gaze pierces the flock, seeking the serpent’s perch, the traitor’s flight. The fox knows I watch—it taunts me with shadows. Look where my eyes linger, beyond the chaos of wings, to the thief’s hidden trail. The shard I carry burns with purpose, but the Veil frays faster. Will you see what I see, or let the thief slip free?