Isolde’s chin lifted, a flicker of her old arrogance surfacing beneath the exhaustion. Her pale eyes swept over the group as if she were a scholar forced to explain basic concepts to particularly slow students.

"The goddess descended to this world in ancient times. No one knows exactly why, some say to save us from a great calamity, others say to judge us for our sins." She paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "But when she left, she didn’t return to the heavens empty-handed. She wove the threads of fate itself into a loom. A physical manifestation of destiny, left behind in the mortal world."

Her gaze drifted to Adam, sharp and pointed.

"They say the Loom can repair anything. Artifacts, weapons, even broken souls." A pause. "But those are just myths. No one has ever found it and no one has ever even confirmed it truly exists." Her expression softened, just a fraction. "But if a dragon speaks of it... perhaps there is truth to the legend after all."

Ignis’s flames flickered with excitement. Her golden eyes widened like a child hearing a fairy tale for the first time.

"Oohh! A goddess actually appeared there? That’s amazing!"

Lilith’s crimson eyes gleamed thoughtfully. She tilted her head, her silver-threaded gown catching the morning light.

"Hmm. If the Loom is in the Wasteland, then our path is already set. We won’t be wasting time chasing dead ends."

Adam nodded, pushing himself up from the fallen log. His wounds protested, but he ignored them.

"I was thinking the same thing." No one argued. The decision had already been made. "So let’s go. Straight to the Wasteland."

Adam led the way, his strides long but careful, his body still protesting the previous day’s exertions. Behind him, Lilith glided through the underbrush with her usual eerie grace, while Ignis bounced along beside her, flames flickering with restless energy. Isolde brought up the rear, her hood pulled low, her pale eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.

They had been walking for what felt like an eternity when the terrain began to change. The lush greenery of the forest thinned, replaced by sparse, twisted vegetation that clung to rocky soil. The air grew cooler, drier, and the distant sound of birdsong faded, replaced by an eerie, unnatural silence.

Adam slowed, his crimson eyes sweeping the landscape ahead. The trees were becoming sparser, their branches gnarled and bare, reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The ground beneath his feet was no longer soft earth but hard, cracked stone, streaked with veins of something that glittered faintly in the pale sunlight.

"We’re close," Isolde said from behind him, her voice quiet. "The border of the Wasteland."

Adam nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. In the distance, the land seemed to shimmer, the air wavering as if seen through heat haze. But there was no heat here, only a cold, unnatural stillness that pressed against his senses.

He pushed forward, his companions falling into step behind him.

The transition was gradual at first, then sudden. One moment they were walking on rocky ground, the next the world seemed to shift, the colors leaching from the landscape. The sky above turned from pale blue to a washed-out grey, and the sun, once warm on his skin, became a distant, cold disk that offered no comfort.

Adam stopped at the edge of a ridge, looking down into the valley below. The Wasteland stretched before him, a vast, desolate plain of cracked earth and scattered boulders, devoid of life, devoid of color. In the distance, twisted rock formations rose like the bones of some ancient beast, their surfaces eroded by winds that had howled across this barren land for millennia.

No birds flew in that sky. No insects buzzed in that air. The silence was absolute, broken only by the whisper of wind across stone.

"The Wasteland," Isolde murmured, stepping up beside him. Her voice was hushed, almost reverent. "They say once you enter, the land itself tries to swallow you. The compass was supposed to guide us, but now..."

She trailed off, her pale eyes fixed on the desolation below.

Adam’s hand moved to his belt, his fingers brushing against the ornate box that held the broken compass.

"The Loom of Fate is out there somewhere," he said, his voice steady. "And we’re going to find it."

Ignis stepped up on his other side, her flames flickering nervously.

"It looks... creepy."

Lilith’s voice drifted from behind them, calm and measured.

"Creepy or not, we have no choice. The compass must be repaired. And if the Loom can truly restore artifacts..."

"Then it’s our only option," Adam finished. He took a breath, then stepped forward, his boots crunching on the cracked stone.

"Let’s go."

They descended into the Wasteland.

The moment Adam’s feet touched the ashen soil of the valley floor, he felt it a subtle wrongness, a pressure against his senses that seemed to seep into his bones. The air was thin here, cold, and carried a faint, acrid scent that reminded him of ozone after a lightning strike.

Behind him, Ignis shivered, her flames dimming.

"It feels... dead," she said quietly, her usual bravado gone.

Lilith’s threads stirred around her fingers, her crimson eyes scanning the horizon.

"The compass," she said, glancing at Adam. "Even broken, perhaps it can still provide some direction."

Adam pulled the ornate box from his pouch and opened it. The Compass of Desire lay on its faded velvet cushion, its needle nowhere to be seen.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

"Worth a try."

He held it out, palm flat, and concentrated.

[Hunter’s Tri-Sense Activated.]

The world sharpened, the pressure of the air, the faint vibration of the stone beneath his feet, the distant whisper of wind across the plain. But there was no heartbeat here, no scent of life, no psychic imprint to follow.

The compass remained still.

Adam’s posture stiffened.

"Nothing."

Isolde’s voice came from behind him, quiet but certain.

"The Wasteland hides what it wants to hide. A broken compass is useless here, no matter what it’s supposed to do."

Adam tucked the compass back into its box and returned it to his pouch.

"Then we walk until we find something."