The Unwritten Land was wrong in beautiful ways.
Mountains rearranged themselves overnight. Rivers flowed uphill when nobody watched. Forests whispered events that had not happened yet.
Worst of all—when Erynd stepped onto the shore, the land recognized him.
"You mapped me," it said, in a voice like cracking stone.
"I didn't," Erynd whispered.
"You will."
Here, memories arrived before experiences. Pain came early. Regret lingered before mistakes.
Iria stood very still.
"This place… it's editing us," she said.
And then she began to fade.
Not dying—unbeing.
Erynd grabbed his map.
For the first time in his life, he hesitated to draw.