I watched the Battle Maiden save my enemies and shatter everything I'd been told could not be broken. That was the Cloudless Fen. I was nineteen. I have not stood still since.

I make maps now. I have charted roads that wander, rivers that lie, mountains that don't wish to be found. I am good at my work. But I carry one scroll I have never been able to draw myself; blank for decades, answering to nothing I've asked of it. It doesn't point toward gold, or roads, or anywhere a compass would think to look. It only wakes when I stop lying to myself about what I'm actually walking toward. Most days, it stays blank.

So I wander. I collect what the songs got wrong and what they were too afraid to write down at all. Every story I tell you is a stop on a road I didn't choose and can't leave. One day, the scroll will finally show me where I'm going.

Until then, sit close, traveler. The fire's warm. Not everything past its light is.