Dawn splits the party’s path: coin to earn, favors to trade, and a wagon to buy before the road turns inland. Cliff works the shrine with a healer’s edge, Kolut and Nilar scheme gears and lightning, and Mecoo muscles the docks till the purse feels right. A stubborn mule, a woven grass bird, and an easy sky—until the wind brings a smell like old graves and the clouds wear a face that watches back.They take shelter in a mountain cavern where a black pool waits like a promise. A chest sits just close enough to tempt, and the water answers with hooks and hunger. Steel, light, and cold rip the dark apart in a scramble between breath and depth. When the echoes die, something useful glints where danger had smiled—and deeper tunnels breathe a challenge the storm itself seems eager to hear.