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As I step onto the grounds, the forest suddenly unfolds before me while the air shifts, as though I’ve entered some far off world somehow entrenched within my homeland. Each tree stands as a sentinel, their gnarled roots gripping the earth, while their leaves sway gently to a silent rhythm known only to the forest itself. With each breath, I draw in the vitality of this enchanted place, feeling its ancient magic pulsate through my veins. As I venture deeper into this sanctuary, I’m left speechless as I ready myself to face what lies ahead.

The llama appears pleased with the newly formed surroundings, merrily munching on the freshly sprouted grass and greenery, not questioning their sudden arrival. I, on the other hand, find the forest fascinating. Has this place always been here? How has this not been mentioned or spoken of before? The vegetation is nothing like what’s typically found in Qantua, and I start to wonder if I’ve arrived in a place that was Qantua from a time before.

Walking between the stout trunks of these ancient trees, a pattern emerges: like the glyphs painted on the papyrus Upachu and I discovered at the Temple of the Titans, there are similar markings etched into the bark. I leave the llama to continue grazing and inspect the carvings. There are a series of lines, curved and straight, swooping and slashing, and a few images above or below them. I retrieve the papyrus from the wooden chest to compare the markings. There are some similarities, but nothing resembling the precise symbology, and I start to question whether there is any direct relation between the papyrus markings and these etchings.

But then I notice something peculiar: one specific glyph on the papyrus that looks exactly like one of the symbols carved into the trunk of the tree. An image appears above the duplicated glyph, appearing to be numerous lines drawn outward from a large circle. Is this another glyph? Is this supposed to represent something?

I look closely at the other markings on the trees, with their glyphs above or below their respective image. One has wavy, horizontal lines above the glyph, another has multiple small lines rising or falling vertically, and another appearing to be two tall rising lines with numerous curved and wavy lines sprouting from it. Sprouting, sprouting… Could that resemble a tree? Are these images in conjunction with the glyphs above or below them? What’s the significance of their placement?

I notice the wavy lines appearing twice—once above the glyph with curling tendrils at the end, and once below it, seeming as though they could roll on continuously. If one of the glyph-and-symbol combinations I discovered is presumed to mean “tree”, are the elements in this pairing found in nature, too? What about the glyph painted on the papyrus; what does that symbol represent?

I lament Upachu’s absence, leaving me grappling with my own inadequacies as I struggle to decipher these enigmatic symbols. His wisdom and expertise in such ancient lore would have untangled these cryptic glyphs with the ease of an eagle gliding through the heavens. Yet as I linger, eyes tracing the strange patterns, a flicker of recognition begins to ignite within me. These wavy lines feel as though they’re drawn with energy, or indicating movement. Perhaps the circle and lines represents the sun, and these waves are exactly that: waves of the water.

So what about the lines above the glyphs? Maybe the location represents where this element can be found, and the wavy lines below the glyph indicate its location on the ground, compared to the sun that is in the sky, much like these curled lines. Then perhaps these lines are something like the air, or wind, due to the implied motion. And the tree being next to the glyph is because it’s found between the ground and sky. Thus, these two lines whose starting point is far apart, but are angled at a slant upward and meet at a point look like mountains; which means this glyph besides it must mean “mountain”. It’s coming together! The meaning of these symbols and glyphs are starting to make sense!

In my excitement, I compare the remaining glyphs with those on the papyrus, believing there must be some kind of relation or similarity. The ones for “water”, “sun”, and “mountain” appear, but they are among other indiscernible markings, so their contextual meaning is unclear to me. Perhaps their significance will show themselves to me at another point, but I’m undeterred by this, feeling successful for what has already been achieved up to now.

As I progress on the path through the forest, I notice the glyphs and their symbol pairings repeating themselves on various other tree trunks. Sun. Water. Mountain. Wind. I begin to decipher other glyphs and their respective symbols, as well. A series of horizontal lines, expanding further from one another the lower they go, followed by zig-zagging lines on the top one. It makes me think of Qiapu, which are the lands south of where the Maqanuiache in Tapeu territory resides. It’s a tremendously mountainous region, and I determine the symbol represents Pachil in its entirety. Or a pair of curved lines meeting at their points, which reminds me of the crescent of a partial moon. There’s also a symbol with bunched-up curved lines, which reminds me of the clouds that can possess the soft, billowy form of cotton in the Aimue fields.

It’s the symbol I believe to represent “fire” that unsettles me, recalling the Eye in the Flame and their twisted use of such an image for their nefarious purpose. Fire can provide for life, yet the cult has altered and manipulated it into something much more sinister. Nevertheless, I attempt to cast aside these thoughts and focus on the glyph within the context of this enchanted forest.

After walking some distance, the glyphs join one another—a pair etched into a tree trunk, at first, then in sets of three or four, perhaps carved into a large stone or trunk. “Mountain, Cloud.” “Cloud, Wind.” “Tree, Sun, Water.” I became immersed in reading and identifying the markings, growing more and more excited as I was able to discern the meaning behind these symbols. I run my hand along the glyphs for Water and Cloud, etched with thick lines into a nearby stone, and I’m reminded of the rain, how it falls from the clouds that soar above the land.

No sooner than when I come to that conclusion, the weather around me changes, and small droplets fall from the sky. My clothes become damp by the light rain as it moistens the ground around us. The llama is annoyed by this new development, snorting and briefly looking up before returning to chewing the lush grass. However, this confirms that this is not occurring in my imagination; that the events are actually taking place. As I inspect the llama, I notice the path we traveled to reach this point is no longer behind us—in fact, there is no path at all. We stand amidst a grassy knoll, surrounded by a circle of trees and nothing more. When did this path change? Was I so engrossed in deciphering the meaning behind the glyphs that I somehow took a wrong turn?

Confused, I sweep the area to look for any indication as to what I should do or where I should go. The rain, a light misting at first, gradually comes down harder, and my field of vision starts to get clouded; not since the jungles of Achope have I seen such heavy rain. My eyes catch another stone, this time with what I believe to be the symbols for Moon and Sun. Moon and Sun? What do these two words have in common? Perhaps it’s describing the moment when the moon is in front of the sun, causing an eclipse?

I run my hand over the stone, repeating the word “eclipse” in my head. Immediately, the rain stops. I’m relieved, taking in a deep breath as I’m no longer pelted by the dense rain drops. However, the landscape changes once again, and before I can identify what has been altered, the area is shrouded in shadow, going completely black. I can no longer see my hand in front of my face, feeling as though I’ve been placed deep inside a cavern without a torch.

I reach out into the darkness, extending my hand to feel for anything that could guide me toward the exit of this cave. The blades of grass brush against my fingertips, cool and slightly damp, a contrast to the oppressive darkness surrounding me. Fearing the sudden changes in my environment, my steps are cautious and deliberate, as if the very ground beneath me could shift at any moment.

Suddenly, my hand brushes against something solid, unexpectedly smooth amid the wild undergrowth. I crouch down, letting my fingers explore its surface. There, etched into the stone, I feel the familiar shapes of glyphs. One symbol next to the glyph is unmistakably a circle with lines emanating outward—the symbol for the Sun. Above it are two long, angled lines merging at the top, which remind me of the glyph for Mountain. Initially, the meaning of the combination eludes me, and I grapple with deciphering the intended word. My fingertips locate the sun, positioned at the top of the mountain, or maybe even behind it, and I get the sense there’s importance regarding its placement.

I trace the glyphs’ contours, trying to imprint their shape in my memory, hoping they hold the answer to escaping this dark place. Could the pair mean “Sunrise”? “Day”? “Mountaintop”? Just then, the word comes to me, and I speak it aloud as I swipe my hand over the carved symbols. “Peak”, as though the sun has reached the peak in the sky, as well as the indication of the top of the mountain.

Sunlight immediately returns to my location, casting its glow over me and the llama. The scene has once again changed drastically, and I’m overwhelmed by jarringly cold gusts of wind. The air is thin, making breathing extremely difficult, and I begin shivering, tightly clutching my tunic around me. It’s then that I realize we are at the summit of a mountain, whose peak is unfamiliar to me. Looking down, it’s as though I can see all of Pachil from where I stand, the horizon glowing from the sun’s light off in the distance. Although I should be nervous about having suddenly arrived at an entirely new location—one which threatens my warmth and health—I’m taken aback by the beauty and silence of this place, seeing the entire world from this vantage point.

Below us is a dense forest that occupies a small area of space among rolling hills, and I recognize the long path I traveled to reach that initial location. As I study the patch of forest, I notice the trees quickly shift in position, the paths that were once weaving through them alternating and moving into a different place. The grounds continually change, switching directions and adjusting their location. Is that why I’ve been unable to find my way? My gaze fixes upon the towering tree at the center, which hasn’t moved during all the rotating and shifting. It stands sentinel, looming largely over the rest of the manipulated area. I come to the conclusion that the tree is the ultimate destination, that there are more answers awaiting me there. But how to I get to it?

I look around the area, seeking any stone or bush or tree with glyph and symbol carvings on or in them. There is a good number of stones with markings, many of whose meaning are unidentifiable to me at this time. The occasional “Sun” or “Tree” or “Wind” appears, but I don’t allow myself to consider them for long, keeping my hands placed around me and hugging myself for warmth.

It’s then that see a large number of symbols for the word “Tree” appear on a stone. The frequency at which the symbol appears makes me think of the word “Forest”, and I am jolted with excitement. I brush my hand over the glyph, wiping away any accumulated snow, on the stone and speak the word.

Once the word leaves my lips, the llama and I arrive back below the peak of the mountain, returning to the thick forest. There’s a path below our feet, although with my recent discovery of the layout of this place, I’m unconvinced about following the dirt road. Instead, I search for more of the stones or carvings that could indicate how I can reach the tall tree at the center.

I desperately search the shifting stones, whose placement rotates around as though it they are on an intense series of rapids swirling this way and that. I can’t get a good look at any of the stones or the glyphs carved into them, meaning I must work quickly. In my mind, I envision the word “Tree”, perhaps a large version of the glyph overtaking smaller iterations of the word or standing tall above them all. My eyes occasionally catch the glyph, but the stones move about too chaotically for me to spend any amount of time studying them.

Soon, there appears a large “Tree” glyph that is entangled with the word I’ve come to associate with “Pachil” or “ground”. Something about the way the bottom of the glyph is entrenched with the other word beneath it makes me instinctively believe this is the word I seek. I hurry over to it, attempting desperately to clutch the stone in my hand before it moves away again. The tree is on top of the many series of lines, among the jagged lines of mountains or homes or whatever meaning they actually represent. It makes me think of the word “Roots”, but not just in the sense of what a tree possesses; a flood of feelings overtakes me as my mind wanders to visions of my home, of Hilaqta, of Qantua. I see the faces of my father, Xiqa, of my sister, Entilqan, of Upachu and of my mother, Natliq. Of the house we all shared together. Of the Great Library and of the tall, stone houses all built in neat, organized rows. Of my origin, of who I was, who I am, and who I will become.

Upon uttering the word, the stones remain still, as though frozen in place so as to not alert a predator to my location. While the trees around me move about from place to place, the ever-altering path stays put, no longer twisting and winding in various, random directions. The llama, unperturbed by all the jostling and shifting, chews the grass unenthusiastically as it stares at me contemplatively. I’m inexplicably compelled to grab the ropes and escort the llama and myself down this dirt road. With more cautious steps, I begin walking.

The path leads me to the towering tree, whose trunk appears ancient as though it has rested here for generations upon generations. Some of the tallest mountains I’ve ever scaled pale in comparison to the height of this tree, with branches that reach into the sky and rest its leaves among the clouds. The base of the tree is enveloped in a mystical, green luminescence, like the congregation of ethereal fireflies that float in a mesmerizing swirl. Although the significance and presence of this tree doesn’t appeal to the llama, my breath is taken away by the sight of such an impressive and glorious landmark.

Sunbeams trickle through the leaves and onto a series of glyphs located all around the base of the tree’s stout trunk. This time, however, they’re not accompanied by symbols or drawings of what they possibly indicate. Initially, I’m concerned, fearing I may not be able to understand the meaning of these glyphs. Have I obtained the knowledge to translate them on their own? But then I’m overcome with confidence, particularly once I begin picking out certain glyphs and deciphering them almost immediately.

The most prominent glyphs to appear are the words for “Moon” and “Sun”, and while I may not be able to determine their literal meaning among the countless other glyphs, they seem to be placed in certain locations that tell me there is some importance as to the location of light and dark, of day and night, of brightness and shadow. But then a flicker of light catches my eye as I walk around the base of the tree. Looking upon it with scrutiny, there appears to be a piece of crystal reflecting the light. I pick up the wedged shard and hold it in my hands, confused as to how it arrived here, nestled within the trunk.

I continue pacing around the ancient tree, stepping over its gnarled roots jutting out from the soft, mossy ground. Occasionally, I hear the woosh of the shifting trees nearby, blurring around me as they rapidly change locations. Seemingly embedded into the trunk are reflective fragments that shine and shimmer in the sporadic daylight. How did these arrive here, inside a growing tree? I tug at them, but they won’t go loose from the clutches of the bark, as if they are a part of the tree itself.

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After walking halfway around the tree, I’ve lost sight of the llama, which remains gnawing on grass and moss, blissfully unaware of the bizarre scene before us. A few steps more and, there, on the ground, lays another shard of crystal. This time, it’s freed from the tree and rests unimpeded. I pick it up, feeling its smooth, sleek surface and smudge it slightly with the oils of my fingers. From here, the sun shines down and warms my bones that still shiver from my earlier encounter with the mountaintop. The crystal refracts the light, casting a rainbow upon the ground that leaves me entranced.

I rotate the shard, altering the way the rainbow is displayed, then, on a whim, I shift so that the shard casts its light upon the other reflective surfaces on the tree. What happens next leaves me astonished, mouth agape: the light seemingly bounces from one reflective piece to another, zipping and whizzing about the bark as though following a thread to the next junction. The light starts to branch out, reaching for other reflective points, but falls short, as if running out of energy or light to continue on. What does this mean? Is there an importance to this? Perhaps the glyphs possess the answer, but I’m not well adapted enough to understand their meaning just yet.

I play around with the light, flashing it upon different reflective points, but nothing quite as dramatic as what I experienced earlier happens. It isn’t until I notice I’ve made the light hit a glyph that resembles “Wind” that the lights extend further and further than before. Does the light have to touch one of the familiar glyphs I’ve discovered earlier in order to achieve an effect? If so, which glyphs are the correct ones?

There were so many references to the Moon and Sun that I decide to start there. But which glyph indicating either word is the one upon which I should reflect the light? I determine that perhaps there’s an indication as to the correct glyph. I search for a mechanism in which I can hold the crystal in place while searching for other clues. Of the shifting trees, a few around the perimeter of the trunk remain still the longest out of all their compatriots, and a branch with forking fingers conveniently falls into place near me. I nestle one of the shards within the branches, rotating the sliver until the light, now casting a large, wide rainbow upon the tree trunk, reaches the glyph for “Sun”, setting off a series of lights that emanate from the source.

Confident and comfortable in its secured placement, I march around the perimeter and reach the opposite side where the llama grazes. While the trees whirl and swirl about the rest of the forest, another tree suspiciously remains in place. I determine this must be the other location in which I should place the shard, with its branches inviting me closer to it as they extend like a hand reaching for the crystal I possess. I inspect the tree, looking for any glyph that indicates the “Moon”, and I believe I’ve found the target for the next beam of light. I walk to the tree and position the shard in a way that refracts the light, since it’s more difficult to achieve from this location compared to the bright area on the other side.

The moment the crystal is placed in the branches, I, along with the tree, suddenly change positions, and I find myself facing another side of the trunk. The light appears to shine on a glyph for “Cloud”, and I grow concerned as to what’s taken place. Before I can remove the shard, the lights around the tree turn an ominous blue, spreading hurriedly like the waters released from an unblocked reservoir.

I’m overtaken by a tremendous gust of wind that knocks me over. The llama bleats in panic as it fights through the sharp winds, pressed against the cart. I claw at the nearby moss, but its slick surface from the abrupt rain created earlier slips through my fingers. My feet gain no traction, and I slide about, hopelessly grasping at anything to stop myself from being forced off these grounds and into the constantly alternating forest. Eventually, my hand clutches the trunk of a young sapling that sprouts along the perimeter of the ancient tree. It bends sharply at the combination of the wind’s intensity and my weight, but it somehow stands firm. Now with both hands around its base, I manage to pull myself up, then shield my face from the relentless gale with one arm. I can see the shard still in place, and though I can’t see the source, a light continues to shine onto the tree’s surface.

My legs strain to propel me toward the tree, exerting every drop of energy within me to get to that crystal. Though the branch remains out of reach, I fling myself toward it, managing to catch it between my palms and pull down upon it. The branch snaps, causing me to drop flat onto the ground with a loud thud that knocks the wind out of my chest. However, the forceful winds subside long enough for me to see through the kicked up leaves and dirt. The blue light emanating from the glyph starts to retract, as if the source of its energy is fading gradually. The llama looks blankly, surprised by the random occurrence and is too stunned to return to its grazing.

There are still bursts of wind that blow particles of dirt into my face, my cheeks stinging. However, I’m able to pick myself up and see just enough to examine what’s taking place. Believing I found the few trees that don’t move within this forest was my error, allowing the light to be altered and placed upon the wrong glyph. But which glyphs require light to be shone upon them? And what will I achieve by doing so?

The wind howls around me like a relentless predator, its icy claws tearing through my garments, seeking to sap the very warmth from my bones. With each violent gust, I brace myself, feeling as if the tempest itself seeks to hurl me into oblivion. My eyes sting from the continual assault of dust and debris, each blink is a battle to maintain focus on the task at hand.

My thoughts become as scattered as the leaves that soar chaotically around me. Doubt creeps into the corners of my mind, whispering insidious thoughts of failure. The glyphs that once seemed like beacons of hope now blur into a maddening swirl of indecipherable symbols. My body trembles, not just from the cold, but from the exhaustion that clings to my limbs like shackles. The labyrinthine forest, with its ever-shifting paths and unyielding challenges, feels like an entity that feeds on my despair, growing stronger as my resolve wanes.

Yet amidst this turmoil, a flicker of determination ignites within me. It burns away the encroaching shadows of doubt, fueled by the knowledge that surrender is not an option. I cannot falter now, not when so much rests upon my shoulders. The relentless winds may batter me, the labyrinth may seek to break my spirit, but I will not yield. With each step, I reaffirm my resolve, pushing back against the forces that conspire to see me fail. This is not merely a test of intellect; it is a trial of will, a crucible that forges the strength of heart and mind.

I begin questioning which glyphs possess the answer I’m after, hoping it will give me a clear way out of this forest. With the sensation of feeling fleeting within my legs, I stumble along the face of the trunk, its rough bark scratching at my palms. It’s then that I notice not all the glyphs have the same amount of reflective surfaces; there are certain glyphs encircled with more shards than others. However, there are so many glyphs in so many locations on this larger-than-life tree that I start to lose hope, fearing the process in finding the solution will take forever, and that I’ll be trapped at this location permanently.

I begin reflecting upon what initially brought me to this place, how it was the glyphs for “Pachil” and “Tree” that made me think upon the word “Roots”. Could it be the “roots” of my world, of Pachil? I wish I could understand more of these glyphs, believing them to dictate instructions or a story that would give me better clarity, but there’s no time to lament that now. I’ve gotten this far by piecing together the small fragments I’ve been able to decipher, and I can continue if I just put my mind to solving this.

Between gusts of wind, I start to think that the solution lies somewhere with the glyph “Pachil” or “Ground”, but I soon dismiss the notion. Something within me feels that the “Pachil” glyph was the answer to a different problem, and that this one requires something further. I ponder the significance of this tree, how it’s likely stood through countless ages, wars, eras, rulers. Despite the changes around it—literally in regards to the shifting trees, but also the numerous factions and people who have walked this continent—it remains, thriving. Like the people of Pachil, it doesn’t ask for much: just water and sunlight gives it the vitality it needs to survive any conflict, to weather any storm.

It’s then that I realize what the glyphs ask of me, that I need to only cast light upon the refracted pieces encompassing “Sun” and “Water”. I’m reminded of the teachings of my father, when I inquired about the people working in the surrounding terraced farms. As if coming to the sagely conclusion on his own, he told me how we only need two elements to survive: sunlight and water to grow the foods that sustain life on this land. They are the sources necessary for survival, and without them, every living thing would perish.

I walk to the tree with the other shard nestled within its branches, noticing that the light shines upon the glyph for “Wind”. Before it can cast its light upon another potentially treacherous glyph, I quickly snap the branch and remove it from the tree, right as it shifts and moves away. Immediately, the bursts of wind halt, allowing me to stand without need of resistance for the first time in seemingly ages.

Relieved, I then plant the branch firmly into the ground like imbedding a flag into the soil. I rotate the stick so that the refracted light shines upon the word “Sun”, and I’m met right away with a warm sensation on my cheeks, as if they’re being caressed by a mother’s gentle and caring touch.

Feeling rejuvenated, I march to the other side, where the llama watches me curiously, hoping I don’t cause another sudden gale of wind. I search the trunk for the word I’m seeking, then upon confirmation, I walk a short distance away to a patch of sunlight. With a mighty thwump, I slam the other branch into the mossy ground, then twist it so that the light shines upon the tree. Quickly, I rotate it so that the light is cast on the glyph for “Water”.

Then, there is silence.

The trees that surround the area stop moving, resting in place for the first time since my arrival. I begin to worry that nothing will come of my accomplishment, fearing I’ve made a mistake in my deductions. But then, a low rumble shakes the ground beneath my feet. The llama bleats and stomps about restlessly, nervous about what’s occurring. From below the roots of the tree, a tunnel emerges, dirt dropping to the ground as the base of the trunk groans, revealing its hidden route.

Though the numerous trees that surround this place have grown into a dense wall, making an alternate exit nearly impossible to see at this point, I’m hesitant to immediately charge down the dark tunnel. Like the llama, I view this new development skeptically, wondering if it’s some sort of trap. Everything about this area has been supernatural and peculiar, feeling out of place from the natural Qantua landscape. After all that I’ve face up until now, this seems too easy of an answer to the riddles I’ve had to solve, and I’m still uncertain of this enchanted woods’ purpose. Not seeing another way out of this place, however, I grab the reins of the llama and the cart, and ultimately decide to take a chance down the natural corridor.

With extreme caution—and reluctance—the llama and I enter the tunnel, and I inspect every pebble, every speck of dirt, every blade of grass as I walk down it. The roots of the aboveground trees coil and twist overhead, with patches of moss, glowing green from some otherworldly bioluminescence, emerging between the gnarled branches that form a complex web intertwining with the dirt. There’s a surreal cool that mixes with the dank air, which clings to my skin and garments. After experiencing so much shifting and movement from the environment around me, the silence has become unsettling. Still, we walk forward, with much trepidation.

We meet a split in the paths, where two seemingly similar tunnels diverge. My instincts tell me one of these paths is correct and the other will lead to a doomed end, but there isn’t any discernible difference between them. I search for any indication, any hint for the correct answer, but nothing appears. What am I missing? Is there a glyph somewhere to inform me of the direction we should travel? Without seeing any sign or instruction, I choose the tunnel to the right, hoping that the journey down it won’t be a long march to a dead end.

There comes a point during the walk when my muscles relax, where my breathing becomes easier and the beat of my heart gradually returns to normal. It’s then when the first calamitous change occurs.

A low rumble, as if the ground is growling at our trespassing, reverberates throughout the tunnel. The sound of tumbling or falling rocks grows louder and louder, like something is heading for us. The llama cries out in panic, immediately tugging on the rope and wanting to turn around. I’m inclined to agree, grabbing ahold and pulling the animal and the cart in tow back down the way we came. I look over my shoulder as we hurry away: as though the ground emulates a furious tide, a mudslide rushes toward us, crashing into the sides of the tunnel as it scrambles down the narrow corridor.

I run as fast as the llama and cart will go, not wanting to leave them to be consumed by the swirling, muddy waters flooding the tunnel. We dash through the winding pathway, desperate to outpace the oncoming torrent. My sandals squish and splash as some of the water has already reached my feet, urging me to sprint faster before I’m swallowed whole. My muscles burn as I charge down the tunnel, racing toward the entrance, and my chest tightens as fear begins to settle in, worried that we won’t escape with our lives.

Upon reaching the point where the paths split, we make the left turn and hurry down the path. But then something peculiar occurs: I no longer feel the surge of the mudslide pressing upon me from behind. I slow my pace, much to the llama’s chagrin, and turn around to investigate. Sure enough, there is now a wall of coursing muddy water, pressing against some invisible barrier that prevents it from seeping into the rest of the tunnel. Is this the same magic that protected the gardens on the palace grounds in Wichanaqta? What force has spared our lives?

While the llama wills me to continue toward the way we entered, I inspect the halted environmental hazard. I refuse to touch the mud, worried that one poke would cause the supernatural dam to burst, but I’m baffled as to what could possibly be impeding its progress. I look around for any indicators, only seeing the roots and glowing moss. I then realize there is something behind the vegetation and wipe it away with my free hand. There are markings etched into the soil, carved in various angles and curves. As I remove more of the moss, two glyphs are revealed: “Water” and “Pachil”. A warning, disguised by the greenery to be hidden away from unwitting adventurers, that treachery lies beyond this point.

I shake my head in disbelief, relieved to have managed to escape certain doom, and watch as the mudslide starts to subside, retreating back from whence it came. Retrieving the llama and cart, we resume our travels down the tunnel, with my eyes cast upward for any more indications of awaiting perils.

At the next split in the paths, I examine the ceiling for any glyphs that would warn me of what’s upcoming. This time, however, the glyphs in which I’m familiar are paired with a glyph that I don’t know. Above one path’s entrance is the word “Wind”, and above the other path, the word “Mountain”. Next to each is a symbol containing staggered lines which start close together at the top and spread outwards as they descend. This reminds me of the symbol for “Mountain”, and I assume there must be some commonality here.

Knowing what I’ve faced when the word “Wind” appears, I opt for “Mountain”, deducing that, being in Qantua, it is going to lead me to the exit that will place me on the mountain summit I once found myself earlier. Perhaps we must scale a mountain, which is not ideal, but it’s more favorable than gales of wind. My body involuntarily shivers, not just from the imagined cold, but from the uncertainty of what lies ahead. The llama, sensing the impending peril, mirrors my anxiety, its eyes wide and alert.

As we progress down the increasingly constricted path, a sense of claustrophobia begins to set in. The walls of dirt and stone loom ominously, closing in around us like a tightening vise. Abruptly, the ground beneath us shudders violently. I feel it first as a subtle vibration, then as a thunderous quake that rattles my very core. The llama, now overtaken by panic, bleats frantically. Behind us, a deafening roar fills the air as the earth gives way, opening up to a vast chasm that swallows everything in its path.

With adrenaline surging through my veins, we sprint down the tunnel, our survival instincts working tirelessly. The clay pot precariously bounces in the cart. I snatch it up, clutching it tightly against my chest, while guiding the frantic llama with my other hand. Each step is a race against time, against the relentless crumbling of the world behind us.

The tunnel collapses around us, withering and falling, threatening to cave in and trap us in these confines forever. Stones and debris cascade around us, striking the cart with violent force. The wooden frame splinters and cracks until it’s only a husk of what it once was. I fumble with the llama’s harness, my fingers clumsy with urgency. Each moment lost to my struggle feels like an eternity as rocks and dirt begin to obstruct our path. With a final, desperate pull, I free the llama from its tether.

“Run!” I urge the beast, my voice barely rising above the incoming devastation. My hand slaps against its hide, a futile encouragement to the already terrified animal. Ahead, a glimmer of salvation: a soft, beckoning light that pierces the darkness. It’s a race against fate as we charge towards this sliver of hope. The light slowly widens, calling us to safety, yet the tunnel’s ceaseless collapse is an ever-present threat at our heels.

Burdened by fatigue, the llama begins to lag. I tug at the ropes, willing us both to not give in to despair. Our escape is a mere silhouette against the encroaching darkness, the light a beacon in a sea of chaos. Every muscle screams in protest, every breath a searing gasp, but we surge forward. The boundary between freedom and entrapment draws near.

Just as the light seems within reach, the ground trembles beneath my feet, a warning of the impending doom. With one final, desperate lunge, I propel myself towards the light, the llama in tow. The tunnel’s roar crescendos into a deafening crash, the sound of our potential tomb sealing shut.