THE BROKEN EGG

The sun hung low over the village of Eldermoor, casting a golden haze across the rolling hills. Clara Hensley stood at her kitchen window, hands dusted with flour from the morning's bread-making, watching the light dance on the wooden sill. It was a morning like any other-until she saw it. An egg. Not one of hers, not from the coop out back where her hens clucked softly. This egg was larger, its shell a deep, earthy brown, and it sat precariously on the sill as if placed there by an unseen hand. Clara frowned, wiping her hands on her apron, and leaned closer.

Fine, spiderweb-like cracks traced across its surface, glinting in the sunlight. It looked fragile, like it might shatter with a breath. She reached out, her fingers hovering over it, when a sharp *tap* echoed through the quiet kitchen. Clara froze. The sound had come from the egg. Another tap, louder this time, and a tiny fracture split further across the shell. Her heart thudded in her chest. Eggs didn't tap. Not like that. "Clara?" a voice called from the doorway. It was Old Man Harrow, the village's unofficial storyteller, his weathered face peering through the screen door. "You alright in there?" Clara didn't turn, her eyes fixed on the egg. "Harrow, come look at this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He shuffled inside, his cane tapping the wooden floor, and stopped beside her. His sharp blue eyes narrowed as he studied the egg. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, his tone heavy with something Clara couldn't place-worry, perhaps. "I didn't," she replied. "It was just... here." Harrow's face tightened. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather book, its pages yellowed with age. "You ever hear of the Eldermoor Prophecy?" he asked, flipping through the book with trembling fingers. Clara shook her head, her gaze flicking between Harrow and the egg. Another tap sounded, and a small piece of shell fell away, revealing a faint, pulsing light within. Her breath caught. "What prophecy?" Harrow stopped on a page, his finger tracing a line of faded ink. "Says here, 'When the broken egg appears, the fractures of the past will awaken. The village will stand or fall by the hands of the one who claims it.'" He looked up, his eyes piercing. "Clara, that egg... it's no ordinary thing." Before she could respond, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. The egg wobbled, the cracks glowing brighter, and Clara's world tilted as the first true fracture of Eldermoor began to spread.