Selka led Caelum to a hidden camp beneath the bridge. Lanterns lit the mist in warm gold, and a ring of stones surrounded a small fire.
"You've seen him, haven't you?" Selka asked, stirring a pot of thin soup. "The masked one. The Shaded Architect."
Caelum's breath caught. "You know him?"
"Know?" Selka's dark eyes glinted. "No one truly knows him. But we've seen his work. Villages like yours, lost to storms that shouldn't exist."
As they ate, Selka told stories of a Shrine older than memory, of Guardians who once kept the worlds apart, of a fracture so deep it split sorrow, joy, and rage into separate timelines.
"Now," Selka whispered, "someone seeks to sew them together again — or tear them all apart."
Thunder rumbled far in the distance. Caelum rose, feeling the cold grow sharper with their anger. "Then I'll find him. I'll find the Shrine."
Selka nodded solemnly. "I will guide you — but the path grows darker with every step."