Solmara pressed her hand to her sternum and felt the pull sharpen. North. The sensation had flickered for months like a candle in wind, but today it burned steady as a compass needle. The last Velhari besides herself was moving, and for once, moving closer. She gathered her pack and turned toward the burnt grove without hesitation. The trees ended abruptly where the fire had taken them. Blackened trunks stood like broken teeth against the gray sky. Between them, stone formations rose from the ash, their surfaces split by glowing seams that pulsed with dying heat. The largest monument stood at the grove's center, its grooves still radiating warmth when Solmara passed close enough to feel it on her face. Beyond the monument, a pavilion waited. Dark stone columns supported a domed roof carved with symbols she didn't recognize. The structure looked ancient, but the ash around its base lay undisturbed, as if the fire had stopped at its threshold. Solmara circled it slowly, studying the way the pillars seemed to drink in the light. She found the cairn on the pavilion's far side. Someone had stacked the stones without care for balance or pattern. They leaned at odd angles, held together by chance and moss. But they formed a line pointing deeper into the grove, and when Solmara touched the topmost stone, the pull in her chest lurched forward like a hooked fish. The survivor had been here. Recently. And they had left a trail.