North.
She's north.
And I'm going to find her.
I don't want to go home first.
The pull is too strong now, the pendant warm and insistent against my sternum, and the thought of wasting even another hour makes my wings twitch with agitation.
But I'm not an idiot. I know better than to chase after her empty-handed.
I land on the balcony of my townhouse and move through the rooms with purpose, grabbing what I'll need. A pack. Water. Dried meat and bread wrapped in cloth. A change of clothes. My hunting knife, because I learned a long time ago that being unarmed is the fastest way to end up dead.
The pendant pulses against my chest as I work, the glow visible even through my shirt, and I grit my teeth against the urge to justgo.
Patience.
Five more minutes.
I throw the pack over my shoulder and step back onto the balcony, spreading my wings wide. The city sprawls beneath me—golden spires and red-tiled roofs, market squares and winding streets—and for the first time in weeks, I'm not looking at it with desperation.
I'm looking past it.
North. Northeast. Wherever the pendant is pulling me.
I launch into the air, letting the wind catch my wings, and the city falls away beneath me. The pull in my chest strengthens immediately, a steady tug that feels almost physical now, and I angle myself toward it without hesitation.
The sky is clear, the sun still high enough to give me plenty of daylight, and I push myself faster. My wings cut through the air in powerful strokes, carrying me over the outer districts of New Solas and into the farmlands beyond.
The pendant grows warmer.
I'm going the right way.
The landscape shifts as I fly—rolling fields giving way to denser forest, the trees thick and dark below me. I keep my altitude high, scanning the ground for signs of settlements, but there's nothing. Just wilderness stretching out in every direction.
And then the mountains rise ahead of me.
The Ridge.
A jagged line of peaks that cuts across the horizon, separating New Solas from the more remote territories to the east. I've flown over them before—years ago—but I've never had a reason to go beyond them.
Until now.
The pendant flares hot against my chest, and I angle toward a pass between two of the larger peaks. The air grows thinner as I climb higher, colder, and I have to adjust my wingbeats to compensate. But the pull doesn't waver.
She's out here.
Somewhere beyond these mountains.
I cross the pass and the landscape opens up again on the other side—rolling hills dotted with clusters of trees, a river cutting through the valley below. And in the distance, smoke rising from chimneys.
A village.
My pulse kicks up, and I slow my flight, circling lower. The pendant is practically burning now, the glow visible even in broad daylight, and the tug in my chest is so strong it's almost painful.
Close.
I'm close.
