Greeq Hornwhisk pressed his paw against the cracked leather spine of another ancient book. His antlers caught the dim light as he bent closer to examine the faded text. He was the keeper of forgotten lore, the one who remembered what others wanted to erase. Every cryptid story mattered. Every name, every escape, every loss. He had to save it all before it disappeared forever. But books weren't enough. Rumors had reached him about something buried in the mud. An excavation site had appeared where the water ran shallow. Other cryptids whispered about artifacts rising from the muck. Greeq's heart quickened. Physical evidence could prove what his books only claimed. He gathered his pack and headed toward the dig site at dawn. The ground squelched beneath his paws as he approached the muddy pit. Clay jars poked through the surface. Stone tablets lay half-buried in the silt. He knelt and brushed dirt from a carved symbol. His breath caught. This was real cryptid writing from generations ago. Documents that predated his oldest books. He pulled out his journal and began sketching every detail. Each artifact told a story his collection had missed. This was why he kept records. This was why he couldn't stop. The past had to live, even if only in his careful notes.