Welcome to Mika Kosulkanen, the legend of Talon. Today the legend leaves Talon, I know.
Dangerous concept, some legends should probably stay in one city. Close to familiar cafes,
predictable weather, and known emotional damage. But this time Kosulkanen went east, the Silame.
Silame is one of those places that looks quiet only because it is hiding better stories than
everyone else. The sea is there, the promenade is there, the old architecture is there,
the wind is there of course because Estonia signed some kind of ancient contract with wind and gray
skies. And then, there is the silence. Not empty silence. No, Silame has the kind of silence that
feels like it has read classified documents. I arrived in the afternoon. The Baltic Sea looked
cold, metallic, and deeply unimpressed with humanity. The promenade was almost empty.
A few people walked by like normal citizens, but I could feel it. Something was watching.
At first I thought it was just a seagull. In Estonia, this is always a reasonable first suspect.
But then, the seagull blinked with three eyes. That is when I understood. This was not a regular
travel episode. The creature landed on a railing. It looked like a bird designed by a committee
of marine biologists, Soviet architects, and someone who had misunderstood a dream.
It had silver feathers, tiny antennae, and the facial expression of a customs officer.
It looked at me and said, documents! I said, for what? It said, for existing dramatically
near the sea. I explained that I was Mika Kosulkenin, the legend of Tallinn. The creature paused.
Then it made a small clicking sound and said, Tallinn, legends require temporary registration
in Silame. Of course, even the fantastic creatures in Estonia understand bureaucracy.
Before I could answer, the fog moved. Not the wind, not the sea. The fog itself.
From inside it came a glowing jellyfish floating about one meter above the promenade.
It was transparent, blue, and full of tiny lights. Like someone had uploaded the northern
lights into a nervous aquatic chandelier. It introduced itself as an administrative
oracle of the Baltic zone. I asked what that meant. It said, I predict delays.
Honestly, the most believable oracle I have ever met. The jellyfish floated around
me and said that Silame was built on layers. The stone, memory, concrete, secrets,
and one very confused dimensional gate near the cultural center.
I asked if this was dangerous, the jellyfish said. Only for people without a sense of humor.
That was reassuring. Almost. Then the third creature appeared. It crawled down from the
side of a building. A small concrete gargoyle about the size of a cat with wings like
folded tram tickets. And eyes glowing warm orange. It did not speak immediately.
It looked at me, then at the sea, then back at me. Finally, it said, you are not from here.
I said, technically, I am from the internet. The gargoyle nodded, as if this has explained
everything. It told me that Silame attracts strange things because it stands between
eras. Not just geographically, not just historically, but emotionally. Some cities
are loud. Some cities sell themselves. Some cities put their personality on billboards.
Silame does not do that. Silame waits. It lets the sea talk. It lets buildings remember.
It lets fog cover the parts of reality that are still loading. And in those loading
moments, creatures arrive. The three-eyed seagull, the glowing administrative jellyfish,
the concrete gargoyle, and apparently me. By sunset, the promenade had turned golden.
The sea was still cold. The fog was still suspicious. And the creatures gathered
around a bench, as if we were having a very strange local council meeting.
The seagull stamped an invisible form. The jellyfish predicted a minor delay in my
personal destiny. The gargoyle gave me a small stone and said,
take this back to Talon. It will make your legend less centralized. I asked what that
meant. It said, you cannot be the legend of Talon forever if you never leave Talon.
That was annoying. Because it sounded wise. On the way back, I thought about that.
Maybe every personal myth needs a second location. A place where the story becomes
stranger. A place where the main character is forced to admit that the world is larger
than his own branding. Talon gave me the title. But Silame gave me creatures. And
honestly, that is a fair trade. So if you ever go to Silame, pay attention.
If a seagull asks for documents, be polite. If a jellyfish predicts delays, believe it.
If a concrete gargoyle gives you advice, take it seriously.
And if the fog starts moving against the wind, do not panic.
It may simply be another legend trying to enter the Baltic region.
This was Mika Kosulkanen, the legend of Talon.
Episode 2, The Silame Creatures. Probably true. Definitely dramatic.