The last thing Kobi's mother ever said to him was not a blessing.
It was a warning.
"Never follow a map that changes," she had whispered, her fingers tightening painfully around his wrist. Her eyes, once warm and playful, had been sharp with fear that day—fear she tried and failed to hide. "If ink moves, if roads redraw themselves, if the land begins to speak back to you… you must turn away. Do you hear me, Kobi?"
He had nodded, because that was what good sons did.
But he had not understood.
Not then.
Now, standing alone on the Red Hills with the wind clawing at his clothes and the sky bruised purple above him, her words echoed like a curse he could not outrun.
The map in his hands was changing again.
The parchment trembled, veins of red ink sliding across its surface as though alive. The lines twisted and folded inward, forming a symbol he did not recognize—three interlocked spirals surrounding a dark center. The ink looked wet, freshly drawn, though the map itself smelled of age and dust and something older. Something buried.
Kobi swallowed and forced himself to breathe.
Below the hill, the land stretched endlessly, valleys folding into one another like the ribs of some sleeping giant. Fires burned faintly in the distance—villages settling into night, unaware that the world was about to tilt.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice came from behind him.
Kobi spun, nearly dropping the map. A girl stood several steps away, as if she had emerged from the wind itself. She was tall, her posture steady despite the storm, her skin marked with thin scars that caught the moonlight. A curved blade rested at her back, its handle worn smooth by use. Her eyes glowed faintly gold—not bright enough to shine, but enough to unsettle.
"I could say the same," Kobi said, though his voice betrayed him.
She smiled slightly. "No. You couldn't."
Her gaze flicked to the map, and something like recognition passed over her face. Not surprise—certainty.
"So," she continued, "it finally chose you."
Kobi tightened his grip. "You know what this is?"
"I know what it does." She stepped closer, boots crunching against stone. "And I know what it costs."
The wind surged, stronger now, carrying with it a low sound—like stone grinding against stone far beneath the earth. The map pulsed once, hard enough to sting Kobi's palms.
"My name is Sefa," the girl said. "And if you don't move in the next few minutes, the ground is going to open."
As if summoned by her words, the hill shuddered.
A deep crack split the earth several paces away, glowing faintly red from within. Heat rose, sharp and sudden, carrying the smell of ash. Kobi staggered back.
"What is happening?" he demanded.
Sefa grabbed his arm. Her grip was firm, practiced. "Your map is waking the Door."
"The Door of what?"
"No time."
The ground lurched violently, throwing them both forward. The crack widened, stretching across the hilltop like a jagged mouth. From its depths came a sound that was not quite a roar and not quite a voice.
The map tore itself free from Kobi's hands.
It floated in the air, pages flipping wildly as red ink spilled outward, drawing shapes in the space before them. The air shimmered. Folded. Broke.
And then there was a doorway.
It stood upright in the middle of the hill, impossible and solid, its frame carved from dark stone etched with symbols that hurt to look at for too long. Inside was not darkness, but movement—shadows layered upon shadows, shifting like a living thing.
Sefa drew her blade.
"Kobi," she said urgently, her eyes locked on the Door, "listen to me very carefully. Once we step through, the map will burn. There's no going back."
"My mother—" His voice caught. "She told me never to—"
Sefa looked at him then, really looked at him, and her expression softened just a fraction.
"Then she knew," she said quietly.
The Door exhaled.
The sound rippled through Kobi's bones, awakening something deep and forgotten. The map burst into flame midair, burning not with fire but with light, its ink screaming as it vanished.
The hill began to collapse.
Sefa didn't wait. She pulled Kobi forward, and together they ran.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world inverted.
Sound vanished first. Then weight. Kobi felt himself stretched thin, as though his body were being pulled through a needle's eye. Colors bled together. Heat became cold. Up and down lost meaning.
Then they fell.
They landed hard on damp stone, the impact knocking the breath from Kobi's lungs. He coughed, gasping, his hands scraping against rough ground slick with moss.
Above them, the Door snapped shut like a slammed book.
Silence settled—heavy, ancient, listening.
Kobi pushed himself upright. The air here was thick and cool, glowing faintly with bioluminescent veins running through the cavern walls. Towering roots twisted overhead, impossibly large, as if this place existed beneath an entire forest.
"Where are we?" he whispered.
Sefa rose smoothly to her feet, blade still drawn. "Under the world," she said. "Past the maps. Past the songs."
She turned to face him.
"And right on time."
Something moved in the darkness beyond the roots—slow, massive, patient.
Kobi's heart thundered.
His mother's words returned to him with cruel clarity.
If the land speaks back to you… you must turn away.
But the land had already answered.
And it knew his name.