The summit revealed itself to Elara not with grandeur, but with a whisper of solitude. The city that crowned the peak was a skeleton of its former self, its bones laid bare to the relentless rain. Buildings carved from the mountain itself stood silent, their facades worn by time and weather.

Elara walked the empty streets, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. The city was a testament to a civilization that once thrived in harmony with the sky. Here, the Cloud Shepherds had reigned, their wisdom etched into the very stones.

Wind-powered contraptions lay scattered like forgotten toys. They were intricate and beautiful, their designs speaking of a deep understanding of the air currents that had once been harnessed. Elara ran her fingers over a dormant turbine, feeling the grooves where the wind had sung.

In the heart of the city, she found a plaza, its center dominated by a statue of a Cloud Shepherd. Its face was worn away, but its posture spoke of command and grace. Around the base, inscriptions told of the pact between the Shepherds and humanity, a bond broken by neglect and greed.

Elara felt a pang of loss for the world that could have been. The city, with its silent wind chimes and lifeless turbines, was a monument to a forgotten promise. It stood as a reminder of what was lost—and what could be regained.