Lumina knelt in the wet moss of Siltworm Fen and unfolded the brittle map her grandmother had pressed into her hand long ago. Forty-three failures sat heavy in her chest. The starflower slept somewhere in this endless marsh, and the old whispers gave her only fog and guesswork. She had promised the others proof. She had not promised them how lost she felt. She pushed past curtains of reeds until her wings caught on something hard. A ring of weathered stones rose from the muck, holding still dark water and a scatter of lily pads. Wilted petals clung to the mud like old prayers. At the center, beneath the green, a pale shape pulsed once. Lumina's breath caught. The whispers had not lied. She had found the cradle. Now she only had to wake what slept inside it.