The sun was high by the time I set out again, though its warmth was dulled by a restless night. My body was adjusting—perhaps too quickly—to the power of the guiding stone inside me. The glow that once pulsed faintly across my skin had diminished, now barely a flicker beneath the surface. It felt strange, as though the stone was becoming more a part of me than I wanted to admit.
The town stretched before me, its cobbled streets bustling with activity. My path today wasn't just about preparation—it was a chance to learn more about this place, the people, and the lands beyond. A map in hand was worth more than a hundred guesses, and if I wanted to reach Eldorahn in one piece, I needed knowledge as much as supplies.
I began at the cartographer's shop, tucked between a baker and a weaver. The smell of yeast and the rhythmic clack of a loom filled the street as I pushed open the creaking door. Inside, the shop was dim and cluttered, its shelves lined with rolled parchment and leather-bound atlases.
A wiry man with a monocle perched precariously on his nose looked up from his desk. "Looking for something specific?" he asked, his voice sharp but not unfriendly.
"Maps," I replied simply. "As many as you've got for the lands ahead. Roads, terrain, anything detailed."
He sniffed, as if weighing my request, then shuffled to a corner where scrolls were stacked like fallen timber. One by one, he laid them out on the counter: a map of the region, another showing trade routes, and a detailed sketch of Eldorahn itself. The last caught my eye—a sprawling city surrounded by rivers, with spires that seemed to pierce the sky.
"That one," I said, tapping the map of Eldorahn. "And the others."
He named a price that made my coin pouch feel even lighter, but I didn't argue. After paying, I carefully rolled the maps and tucked them into my pack.
"You'll need more than maps for Eldorahn," the cartographer said as I turned to leave. His voice had softened. "Keep your wits about you. That city's got teeth."
I nodded, the weight of his warning settling alongside the maps in my bag.
As I wandered back into the street, the pulse of the guiding stone flared within me—a brief, sharp tug that made me pause. It wasn't painful, but it was... insistent, as though it had a mind of its own. My hand drifted to my chest, where the warmth of the stone seemed to spread outward, tingling through my fingertips. For a moment, the faint glow beneath my skin returned, only to vanish as quickly as it had come.
I leaned against a wall, breathing deeply. Whatever this was, it was growing stronger—or perhaps I was simply becoming more aware of it. Either way, I couldn't ignore it. The stone wasn't just inside me; it was changing me.
"Pull yourself together," I muttered under my breath. A few passersby gave me curious looks, but I waved them off, pushing myself back into motion.
The town square was alive with activity, the heart of the community. Stalls overflowed with goods, performers drew small crowds, and children darted between the legs of adults. In the center stood a large stone monument, its surface etched with carvings that had been weathered by time.
I approached it, curiosity piqued. The carvings depicted a story, though parts of it were too worn to decipher. There were figures—heroes, perhaps—standing against a backdrop of fire and shadow. In their hands, they held stones eerily similar to the one within me.
"Stories of the old wars," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see an elderly man, his face lined with age but his eyes sharp with knowledge. "The guiding stones were once wielded by champions. They were said to lead the way in times of darkness."
"Do they still?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
The man shrugged. "If the stones choose, perhaps. But that's not for mortals to decide."
He patted the monument affectionately before shuffling away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The carvings seemed to mock me now, their silent presence a reminder of the burden I carried.
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of final preparations. I visited the tannery for a sturdier strap for my pack, the cobbler for a patch on my boots, and the market for more provisions. By the time the sun began its descent, I had everything I needed—or at least everything I could afford.
I returned to the inn, my pack laden but my spirit no lighter. The Dawnhound was waiting by the door, its glowing eyes locking onto mine as I approached. My companion chirped softly, hopping onto my shoulder as I stepped inside.
Upstairs, I spread the maps across the table, studying each one in detail. The trade routes offered the most straightforward path, but they were also the most traveled—and the most dangerous for someone like me. A smaller, less obvious trail wound through the forest to the north, skirting the edges of the mountains before converging with the main road near Eldorahn. It would take longer, but it felt safer.
The guiding stone pulsed again as I traced the northern route with my finger. A faint hum echoed in my chest, as though approving my choice. I frowned, uneasy with the sensation but unwilling to dismiss it. If the stone had a will of its own, it seemed I had little say in the matter.
As the night deepened, I sat by the window, watching the town settle into silence. The streets, so lively during the day, were now empty save for the occasional lantern light flickering in the distance.
The pendant the old woman had given me sat on the table, its obsidian surface absorbing the dim light of the room. I picked it up, turning it over in my hand. There was no hum this time, no resonance like before. It was just a pendant—or so I told myself.
"Tomorrow," I whispered, tucking the pendant back into my pack. "Tomorrow, we move."
The Dawnhound settled at the foot of the bed, its steady presence grounding me as I drifted into an uneasy sleep. The guiding stone was quiet now, its glow hidden, but I knew it was there—waiting, watching, and guiding me toward whatever lay ahead.