The wagon rolled steadily beneath the morning sun.
Behind them, Red Hollow had disappeared beyond the hills, leaving only the distant echo of its chapel bell lingering in Ayan's memory.
The road stretched eastward across wide grasslands where the wind danced through fields of tall golden reeds. Clouds drifted lazily across the sky, their shadows gliding over the earth like silent ships upon a vast blue sea.
For several hours, no one spoke.
Doctor Rowan guided the horses with practiced hands.
Maren quietly sorted the remaining medicine in her satchel, separating herbs that needed to be replaced from those still usable.
Ayan sat near the back of the wagon.
Theo's tiny wooden lantern rested safely inside his bag beside Elias' fountain pen, the smooth river stone from the fisherman, and the small letters he had promised to deliver.
Each object carried a story.
Each story carried a lesson.
The Bridge beneath his skin remained calm.
It no longer felt impatient.
It simply waited.
...
By midday they reached the edge of a broad river.
Its waters rushed swiftly between rocky banks, sparkling beneath the afternoon sunlight.
Spanning the river stood an enormous stone bridge.
It was magnificent.
Or...
At least it had once been.
One side of the bridge had partially collapsed years ago.
Large cracks spread through several arches.
Weeds pushed between loose stones.
Wooden supports had been added beneath one section, but they looked old enough to fail at any moment.
Only one wagon could cross at a time.
Even then...
Every traveler crossed with visible caution.
A long line had formed before the bridge.
Merchants.
Farmers.
Pilgrims.
Families.
Everyone waited patiently for their turn.
Maren looked toward the damaged structure.
"That bridge has looked like this for years."
Doctor Rowan nodded.
"It grows worse every season."
"No one repairs it?"
"They keep saying they will."
"But repairing a bridge costs money."
He sighed.
"So every year..."
"...they decide it can survive one more."
Ayan looked toward the cracked stone.
His notebook had spoken of someone named Edric.
"He has forgotten why he built the bridge."
His eyes slowly moved across the crowded crossing.
Perhaps...
This was the bridge.
...
The wagon joined the line.
An old merchant standing nearby smiled politely.
"You'll be waiting awhile."
"Is it always this crowded?"
The merchant laughed.
"It wasn't."
He pointed toward the damaged arches.
"Now only one wagon crosses every fifteen minutes."
"What happened?"
"No one's entirely sure."
He scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"Some say the river changed."
"Others blame an earthquake."
"But..."
His expression darkened.
"...the bridge keeper would know."
"The bridge keeper?"
The merchant nodded.
"Old Edric."
"He used to inspect every stone."
"Every morning."
"He knew this bridge better than anyone."
"And now?"
The merchant looked toward a small stone house overlooking the river.
"He rarely leaves."
"Sits inside all day."
"Says the bridge is beyond saving."
Ayan quietly followed the man's gaze.
A weathered cottage stood near the riverbank.
Its windows were open.
Outside rested dozens of stone-working tools covered in dust.
Unused.
The Bridge pulsed softly.
Once.
The silver notebook appeared.
Its pages slowly turned.
Edric.
Beneath the name...
The familiar sentence remained.
**He has forgotten why he built the bridge.**
Nothing more.
No instructions.
Only the truth.
Ayan closed the notebook.
Doctor Rowan noticed.
"You're going."
It wasn't a question.
Ayan smiled faintly.
"I think someone is waiting."
The old doctor nodded.
"We'll cross after you return."
Maren looked worried.
"What if it takes hours?"
Doctor Rowan chuckled.
"We've waited this long."
"Another hour won't hurt."
...
Ayan walked toward the small cottage.
The closer he came, the more signs of neglect he noticed.
Broken flower pots.
Untrimmed bushes.
A stone bench cracked neatly through its center.
The cottage itself remained sturdy.
Yet...
No one had cared for it in a very long time.
He knocked gently.
No answer.
He waited.
Still silence.
Finally...
A rough voice called from inside.
"The bridge isn't closed."
"I know."
"Then stop knocking."
Ayan smiled slightly.
"I wasn't here about the bridge."
Silence.
Then...
"What do you want?"
"I'd like to meet Edric."
Another long pause.
The door slowly opened.
Standing inside was an elderly man with broad shoulders that age had finally begun to bend.
His beard was streaked with white.
Deep lines marked his face.
His hands...
Even after all these years...
Still carried the rough calluses of a stone mason.
"You've met him."
The old man answered.
"I'm Edric."
His sharp gray eyes studied Ayan carefully.
"I don't remember asking for visitors."
"You didn't."
"Then why are you here?"
Ayan looked past him.
Stone models of bridges filled the cottage.
Some were complete.
Others remained unfinished.
Dust covered nearly every one.
"You build beautiful bridges."
Edric snorted.
"I built them."
"Past tense."
"What changed?"
The old man laughed bitterly.
"The river."
He turned and walked back inside without inviting Ayan.
"Come in if you're going to keep asking questions."
The cottage smelled of stone dust and old parchment.
Blueprints covered one wall.
Measurements.
Calculations.
Sketches.
Years of work preserved beneath fading ink.
Edric picked up one drawing before setting it back down again.
"I built this bridge thirty-eight years ago."
He spoke without looking at Ayan.
"It was the finest bridge in the province."
"People celebrated."
"Merchants praised it."
"The governor shook my hand."
His voice gradually lost its warmth.
"Then one spring..."
"The floods came."
He looked toward the window.
"The river shifted."
"One support cracked."
"We repaired it."
"The following year..."
"Another cracked."
"We repaired that too."
He sighed heavily.
"Every year..."
"...another crack."
"Another repair."
"Another complaint."
Finally...
He sat down heavily in a wooden chair.
"One morning..."
"I looked at the bridge."
"And all I could see..."
"...were the cracks."
Silence filled the room.
"I stopped seeing the people crossing."
"I stopped seeing children laughing as they ran across it."
"I stopped seeing farmers carrying harvests home."
"I stopped seeing newlyweds."
"I stopped seeing travelers."
His tired eyes settled upon Ayan.
"I only saw another stone waiting to break."
Outside...
The sound of wagon wheels echoed faintly across the river.
Someone laughed.
A horse neighed.
Life continued crossing the bridge.
Yet...
Its builder no longer saw any of it.
The Bridge beneath Ayan's skin pulsed warmly.
Not because Edric had forgotten how to repair stone.
Because...
Somewhere along the way...
He had forgotten why he had begun building in the first place.