The following morning, Elias packed a small satchel with the few possessions he valued: a leather-bound notebook, a handful of bread, and the compass, which seemed to hum faintly in his hands. He left a note for his family, knowing they wouldn't understand, and began walking east—toward the mountains he had only seen from afar.
The first day was exhilarating. The air was crisp, the sun warm, and his heart alive with possibility. Yet, as the path grew steeper and the trees closed in around him, doubt began to creep into his mind.
"What am I doing?" he muttered aloud. "I don't even know where I'm going."
The compass, still spinning, offered no reassurance. Exhausted, Elias collapsed beneath an ancient oak tree as the sky darkened. He thought of home, of his family's faces, and for a moment, he considered turning back.
But just as sleep began to claim him, a soft light appeared in the distance. Rising cautiously, Elias followed it to a small clearing where an elderly woman tended to a fire.
"Come," she said, without looking up. "The road is long, and the night is cold."
Elias hesitated but felt an undeniable trust in her presence. As he sat by the fire, the woman handed him a bowl of stew and spoke.
"You carry questions heavier than your satchel," she said. "Ask them, and perhaps the road will answer."
Elias stared into the flames. "How do I know this journey will lead to anything? What if I'm just chasing shadows?"
The woman smiled. "Every journey begins with doubt, and every answer lies beyond it. But tell me, why did you leave your home?"
Elias paused. "Because staying felt like forgetting something important. Something I don't even know yet."
The woman nodded, as if hearing the answer she had expected. "Then you've already found the reason to keep walking."