"Maps of the old world do not mark distance, but resonance. They are drawn not on paper — but on the soul." — Archive of Wind-Singers, Book II
📜 Ruins of Palvenesh — Three Nights Later
The trio rested beneath a broken sky-temple — a ruin forgotten by most, but sacred to wayfarers.
The Key fragment pulsed with quiet rhythm. It drew them here.
Among the cracked stone was a pedestal. On it: a sheet of crystal that looked like a flattened drop of water.
When Shiva approached, it rippled. When Meera touched it, it warmed. When Aarav knelt, it awakened.
Symbols formed — not letters, but feelings:
Yearning.
Warning.
Woven paths.
Meera gasped. "It's not a map of roads. It's a map of truths."
🌬️ Breath-Drawn Paths
Lines unfolded like vines across the crystal. They formed three arcs:
One toward the sunken city of Lohvana.
One upward into the Frostwind Teeth.
One into the desert — where nothing should live.
Each bore a sigil. Each reacted to a different one of them.
> Aarav's shimmered with echo. Meera's pulsed with light. Shiva's… turned to shadow, and then vanished.
> "We're not meant to walk the same path," Shiva said.
> "But we only just found each other," Meera replied.
> Aarav nodded. "Perhaps that was the point."
🔥 A Fourth Path
But as they prepared to choose, the crystal trembled. A fourth path appeared — broken, blurred, flickering like fire seen through smoke.
And in its center: A handprint. Shiva's.
> "This path… doesn't exist yet," Aarav whispered.
> "It will," Shiva said. "When we make it."
🌒 Elsewhere…
In the Hall of Red Glass, a masked Seer fell to her knees.
> "The Threads are splintering. The Breath is choosing its own way."
> "Then we must stop it before it remembers what it truly is."