Grandmother Toad crouched at the mouth of the cave and watched the world go by with purple eyes that had seen too much. Forty years she had searched for someone to carry this burden after her. Forty years of marking children with a small purple-stoned pendant and waiting to see who held steady. Most broke. Most ran. She was tired. Today the air felt wrong. She squinted past the cave entry and saw it — a thin black shape in a tall hat, circling slow as a vulture. Red eyes. Smoke trailing where its feet should be. It had chosen a target. The target was a red-haired girl with a cat on her shoulder and a staff in her grip. Rena. Grandmother Toad had quietly watched her for three years. Steady hands. Angry mouth. A child who had already done the math on her own worth and refused to be surprised by kindness. The shadow drifted closer to Rena and left a ring of smoking runes burning in the dirt behind it. Grandmother Toad rose. Her old knees cracked. She stepped out of the cave and lifted the pendant from her neck. "Girl," she called. Rena turned, eyes flat, staff raised. Grandmother Toad held the purple stone out between them. "Something is hunting you. I have watched you a long time. Come inside, or die out there." Rena looked at the burning ring, then at the old woman, then walked toward the cave.