Kaelen and The Compass from a Forgotten Direction

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It was a morning unlike any Kaelen had ever known. Not a bird call, not a rustling leaf, not even the faintest breath of wind. The world held its breath. Only Varaan snorted softly as she dismounted and stepped through the damp mist that hovered above the ground like a second, uncertain skin. Before her lay a circle of weathered stones, half buried in grass, half covered in time and moss. At its center: a pedestal. And upon it—a compass. Large, made of dark metal, with a frosted glass lid that shimmered with every movement of the air like a drifting thought. Kaelen approached. Her fingers hesitated, then rested on the cool casing. The lid flipped open by itself—no resistance, just a soft click, like the closing of a memory. The needle didn't move north. She turned once, hesitantly, staggering, and then stopped—in a direction where there was nothing. No path, no tree, no light. Only fog. And maybe... possibility. A tingle ran over her skin. Something in this place knew her. Or remembered her. But not who she was—but who she could have been. She sat down on one of the curbs. Varaan stepped closer, letting his head drop to shoulder height, his horns heavy with the night dew. His eyes rested on her with the silent knowledge of all the paths he himself had never walked. "What is this place?" whispered Kaelen. No one answered. But the compass trembled slightly—not uneasily, but almost expectantly. She remembered the crossroads in the Darkwood, where she had followed the light and not the calling. The library in Lienth, where an old man had asked a question she dared not hear. A song she had almost sung. And of a promise that was never spoken because it would have been too late. "If it shows me where I could have gone... does it also show me what I left behind?" The compass didn't answer. But the fog opened a little. A barely perceptible path, narrow as a doubt, led out of the circle—to where no place on the map had ever been. Kaelen lifted the compass. It felt heavier than a single piece of metal should. As if it carried decisions that were never made. She looked at Varaan. "If I go there, maybe I'll see who I could have become." The great companion inclined his head slightly. And then—he stepped forward. Kaelen followed. The path wasn't a road in the true sense. More like a reminder that someone should have walked there once. And with each step, Kaelen felt images forming within her. Not from her past, but from her possibilities. She saw herself with different eyes, heard words that were never spoken, and recognized faces she had never known. But amidst it all, there was also certainty. For while the world of "what ifs" closed in around her like a veil of light and shadow, she knew one thing: that she chose where she went. And that every direction—even the lost one—was part of who she had become. As she left the path, she turned once more. The fog had closed again. The compass in her hand was still. The needle was asleep. Kaelen smiled.