Kieran did not sleep.
He sat near the edge of the temporary camp, knees drawn up, the map spread carefully across his lap. The caravan had stopped once night fell—too afraid to move in the dark, too shaken to argue. Small fires burned low, guarded more for comfort than warmth.
The map glowed faintly.
Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to remind him it was there.
Alive.
Kieran hesitated, then ran his fingers across the parchment.
It was warm.
Not from the fire. From within.
He flinched and pulled his hand back, heart racing. Maps weren't supposed to feel like that. They were dead things—ink, paper, memory. This one reacted, the glowing line pulsing slightly, as if annoyed at being ignored.
Kieran swallowed.
Slowly, he touched it again.
The moment his skin made contact, the glow sharpened. The path on the parchment shifted—subtly, but undeniably—curling inward, tightening its shape. His breath caught as a pressure built behind his eyes, not painful, but heavy.
Images flickered through his mind.
A stone arch buried in earth.
A forest twisted into unnatural angles.
A shadow moving where no shadow should exist.
Kieran jerked his hand away, gasping.
The pressure vanished.
He stared at the map, pulse pounding in his ears. "You don't just show paths," he whispered. "You know them."
The ground trembled faintly.
Kieran froze.
Around the camp, a few others stirred. One of the horses snorted nervously. A merchant muttered something in his sleep. The fires flickered, flames bending in a direction the wind wasn't blowing.
Kieran stood.
The map grew warmer in his hands, the glowing line brightening until it bled through the parchment. He didn't need to look up to know what it meant.
Something was coming.
"Kieran."
He turned sharply. Mara stood a few steps away, sword already drawn, eyes scanning the darkness. "You felt that too?" she asked.
He nodded. "The ground shifted."
"Not the ground," she said quietly. "The space."
The map pulsed once—hard.
Then the glow moved.
Not on the parchment.
On the world.
Ahead of them, the grass bent inward, flattening into a narrow trail that hadn't existed moments ago. Trees leaned aside just enough to allow passage, branches creaking as if forced by invisible hands. The path shimmered faintly, mirroring the glowing line on the map.
A few people noticed. Whispers spread like sparks.
"That wasn't there," someone said.
Mara cursed under her breath. "I don't like this."
Neither did Kieran.
But he stepped forward anyway.
The moment his boot touched the glowing path, warmth rushed up his leg—not burning, not painful. Familiar. As if the ground recognized him.
Behind him, the camp shifted.
He turned just in time to see the fires dim, then vanish entirely. The cleared ground where they had rested folded back into uneven grass, as if the camp had never existed at all.
A wave of cold rolled through him.
The map wasn't just guiding them.
It was erasing what they left behind.
"Kieran," Mara said sharply, "tell me you see that too."
"I do," he replied. His voice was steadier than he felt. "And I don't think we can go back."
As if to confirm it, the path behind him flickered—then disappeared.
Gone.
Blank earth where it had been.
A distant sound echoed through the trees. Low. Grinding. Like stone dragged slowly across stone.
The horses screamed.
Mara spun, sword raised. "Everyone up! Now!"
The sound came again, closer this time.
Kieran didn't wait for orders. He looked down at the map.
The glowing line ended ahead—at a symbol he hadn't noticed before. A simple arch, drawn in thin gold strokes.
Shelter. Or trap.
Either way, it was the only thing the map was willing to show.
"Follow me!" Kieran shouted.
He ran.
The path surged brighter beneath his feet, guiding him through the trees as the forest groaned around them. Branches snapped. Something massive moved in the darkness, unseen but unmistakably real.
The arch appeared suddenly—ancient stone half-buried in the earth, carved with the same symbols that glowed on the map. As Kieran crossed beneath it, the air thickened, then tore—
The world lurched.
Sound vanished.
The forest was gone.
Kieran collapsed onto cold stone, gasping, the map burning hot against his chest. Slowly, he lifted his head.
The ruin around him was whole here. Untouched. Soft golden light floated in the air like drifting embers.
And standing a few steps away, leaning casually against a pillar, was a figure wrapped in ash-gray robes, eyes glowing faintly gold.
"Well," the stranger said calmly, a knowing smile forming,
"looks like the map finally decided to stop whispering."
Kieran pushed himself up, heart hammering.
"Where are we?" he demanded.
The stranger's smile faded.
"This," they replied,
"is where the map sends those who can't turn back anymore."