A sharp pain filled Eamon's head. He blinked. Suddenly, everything went black. A void, except for the feeling of something cold against his face. Something sharp poked his side. He jolted up, causing a crow to fly away from the nearby branches. Eamon looked around frantically, looking for any signs of Theah. He stood up, the back of his head aching from the hard blow. There were no remnants of the battle besides stained grass. The warm feeling Eamon has held for the last few years was gone. Everything seemed so dull without Theah filling the space. 

The bushes nearby started to rustle–possibly an enemy ready to attack. Eamon quickly formed a blade as fast as possible. The blade was curved to the side, with its blade serrated. This sword was in no way suitable for combat. The rustling stopped. Suddenly, a bunny jumped out of the bushes. Eamon's tension relaxed, and the sword he held quickly disappeared in his hand.

Something bright caught his eye from the grass. Upon further inspection, it was a pendant with two moons and a snowflake. Eamon picked it up carefully, the chain tangled and smeared with earth. It was delicate. Silver. The two moons shimmered faintly under the overcast, and below the moons sat the snowflake with many gemstones inlaid. He turned it over, hoping for some sort of mark, engraving, or anything to indicate the owner. But there was nothing except for cold metal pressing against his fingertips.

“Theah never wore jewelry, so whose is this?” Eamon asked the air as if waiting for a response. “Okay, Eamon, Theah told you what to do in this situation: assess the situation, find any trails or belongings, follow the lead, then ask for any information–wait, no, ask for information, then follow the lead.”

He sighed, shaking his head, trying to recall every detail of the instruction as much as possible.

“Come on, Eamon, focus.”

Eamon paced back and forth, muttering to himself.

“Ask for info, then follow the lead. No—wait, lead first… damn it.”

His boots suddenly slid forward, nearly sending him sprawling. He caught himself with a grunt and looked down. A shallow puddle lay pooled beneath his boot.

“What…”

Eamon looked up, biting his lip slightly, and his eyes surveyed the rest of the surroundings.

“Sky clear, no nearby water source, too late for dew. How can you exist?”

He knelt, fingertips brushing the puddle's edge. A faint chill sensation filled his fingertips and traveled throughout his arm. 

“Please let this be you.” Eamon pleaded, frantically looking for any out-of-place droplets.

His eyes darted across the underbrush, scanning for any sign—a glint of water, a shimmer on bark, even a written letter if whoever took her was kind enough. Eamon sprinted ahead, following the faintest patterns of dampened earth.

“Even when you are gone, you are still schooling me,” he muttered with a bitter smile.

Another puddle. Then a drip on a root. A thin trail winding through the grass. 

Eamon's heart skipped.

 It had to be her. Only Theah could think of this, right?

He followed the trail left by Theah, each droplet like a whisper – subtle, but unmistakably hers. Theah’s trail ended once it intersected with a trade route commonly used.. Eamon paused, scanning the shadows. He pulled his bag in front of him, looking for his mask.

“Alright, buddy, this is your shot,” he whispered to himself, slipping on the mask.

Eamon's eyes caught movement – two figures slinking along the trade route. Thieves, no doubt. He melted into the darkness, embracing every shadow as if one with them. A safe distance was kept between Eamon and the thieves. The thieves took an unexpected turn off the trail. Eamon hurried to follow, but they had vanished. What remained was a large stone slab engraved with heroes who died during battle.

A trail of fresh footsteps led to the foot of the slab–and stopped. Eamon cautiously approached the stone, looking everywhere for a possible mechanism to move the stone. 

“Maybe this is the underground like Theah told me about?” 

He brushed some moss from the slab, revealing an engraving depicting two masks: one smiling, the other frowning. His fingers pressed the engraving.

His heart skipped. Was this really it? What if Theah wasn't here?

Suddenly, Eamon's hand slipped through the stone, as if it were never there. He took a step forward into the unknown, then another. Each step he took led him farther beneath the surface.

“If you are down there…I’m coming.”