Moon Outlaw pushed open the heavy wooden doors of his stone bunker and stepped inside. The pups were sleeping in the back room. He had hours, maybe less, before the hunters picked up the trail again. He needed the other elements. Fire and wind would not be enough. He crossed to the workbench lined with crystal shards. Each shard hummed at a different pitch. He pressed his bandaged hand to the water crystal. Pain shot up his wrist. He pulled back, hissing through his teeth. The swirling map on the wall pulsed with shifting colors. He studied it again. The bright knots of energy moved across distant regions, but none of them named a teacher, a temple, or a book. Only light. Only motion. He had stared at it for weeks and learned nothing useful. He turned to the carved bookshelf where he kept every scrap he had gathered. Half the shelves were empty. The other half held journals with torn pages, broken seals, and one cracked stone tablet covered in runes he could not read. A map to nothing. A library of holes. He lit the runic matrix on the floor and tried again. The runes flared, then dimmed. The water crystal stayed cold. He sank to one knee and pressed his bleeding palm against the stone. Two elements. That was all he had. The hunters would arrive before he found a third. He stood, wiped his hand, and crossed to a locked drawer beneath the workbench. Inside was a sealed letter, written months ago to the one person he trusted. He had sworn never to send it. He set it on the bench, picked up his pen, and added a single line at the bottom: I need to know where the teachings are kept. Then he sealed it again and called for the courier bird.