Meridian Whisperway climbed the tower of stacked books and peered through the small looking glass at its crown. Souls were drifting again, pale shapes wandering the thorned arch of the Arc Entrance, fading before he could reach them. He had guided the first soul ever to pass through. He meant to guide every one after. He struck the gong hanging beside him. The sound rolled out across the bramble-woven arch and into the trees. One clear note, meant to be heard by anyone newly arrived. But a gong alone was not enough. Souls needed a path, not just a call. Meridian climbed down and pushed a small dark signpost into the soft ground at the tower's base. Its arrow flickered, then glowed warm gold, pointing the way. He planted another. Then another. Each sign lit when the one before it lit, a chain of soft arrows curling through the woods. The drifting shapes turned. They followed. One by one, the souls arrived at his hollow. Meridian poured rose tea and spoke plainly of the ones who had wandered too far before. He did not linger on them. He pointed instead to the purple caravan waiting beyond the trees, where a cat merchant in a hooded robe tuned a tambourine and counted small bright gems. "Whisper Thornpaw needs a hand on the road," Meridian said. "That is where your story begins." The gong rang again behind him. More souls were already coming, and now, at last, they would find their way.

The gong still echoed when Meridian heard the new sound — low, sweet, curling under the trees from the dark lake beyond. A siren song. He froze on the path. While he had been walking souls to the purple caravan, others had arrived alone, turned toward that water, and never come back. He climbed his tower and looked through the glass. Pale shapes drifted toward a still, moonlit pool. At its edge stood a cat-shaped figure with a crown of coral, humming. Selune Depthsong. She lifted one paw and a soul folded into a small purple bloom. She tucked it into her hair. "I keep them," she called, not loud, but he heard it as if she stood beside him. "Every single one." Meridian came down fast. He dragged a heavy rune-carved stone to the edge of her woods and set it upright. Its purple light pulsed like a warning bell made of stone. Any soul who reached it would see the danger and stop. Then he built a small pavilion just outside her reach — pillars, a domed roof, climbing roses, soft lanterns. Inside the pavilion, her song went quiet. He tested it himself and heard only his own breath. Last, he placed an old book on a stand at the pavilion's center. Its cover showed a star compass. When a soul touched it, the pages spoke his instructions in his voice: wait here, do not follow the water, I am coming. He left it open and ready. Selune drifted up from the lake and sat on the pavilion step. Her mouth moved, but no song carried past the roses. She looked at him, almost amused, almost tired. "Clever," she said. "I will still wait." Meridian nodded once and turned back to the path. Behind him, two new souls reached the pavilion, found the book, and sat down to wait. For the first time, no one slipped away while he was gone.