Darius heard the rumor in a tavern that smelled like wet wood and old smoke. A traveler had seen someone matching the description — dark hair, quiet voice, never stayed anywhere long. The bartender leaned close and said not to follow it. People who went looking in that direction didn't come back the same. But Darius left anyway. He walked until he found the fountain with the bright mural, colors bleeding into one another like a warning no one had bothered to write down. Three locals stood near it, arms crossed. One held a silver ring with a date carved into the band. Soil still clung to the grooves. She turned it over in her palm and watched him approach. He asked if the ring belonged to the person the traveler had seen. She nodded once. Then she pointed past the fountain, toward a narrow path that disappeared into shadow. The hut with the weather vane sat just beyond the trees, smoke rising from its chimney. She told him not to go. Her voice was flat, like she'd said it before and knew it wouldn't matter. Darius took the ring from her hand. The metal was cold and familiar in a way that made his chest tighten. He slipped it into his pocket and turned toward the path. The locals didn't follow. He walked into the trees alone, the amulet at his chest catching the last of the light before the branches closed overhead.