You go searching for the one man who might have answers—about the Shattering, the child, the lantern, and the beating heart that is really a jewel.

At night—whether you rest by a campfire, in a dilapidated ruin, under whatever shelter you can find, or even in a local inn—your dreams turn strange, twisted, and haunted. A man walks through arched doors. They close. The world’s light falls away. You hear the tears of a crying boy. You see him: a small child, then a teenager, then a man.

You know him. The Child. The Creator.

Every night, another piece of the puzzle slides into place. You see more: the love affair with the Red Hawk Soldier, the ruin of the Red Hawk camp, the smoke and ash, the blood on your hands, and the weight of guilt that follows.

At last, you reach the place you know the Wandering Merchant will be. He sits by the riverbank, soaking up the sun—young, almost radiant, nothing like the old man you have come to know. Seeing him stirs memories of the long-dead poet: The Poet.

“Child. I have not seen you for some time. Have you heard from The Soldier, or his brother?”

You tell him you haven’t—not mentioning that one is trapped in the land of ice and snow, and the other is trapped inside his own demons.

“I sense you might have something for me. Perhaps there are questions? Alas, for those answers I will need something beyond what you have: the chipped mirror. A simple object, nothing special. It should be around here somewhere, child.”

A chipped mirror. Maybe it’s the key to the green-tinted fragment.

You set off to find it, hoping the answers will be waiting when you return.