Matilda sprints through the forest, clutching the bugbear idol, two roaring pursuers gaining fast. Javelins whistle past. She reaches the cliff, parries a final strike, and leaps backward, flipping them off as she falls. The creek breaks her fall but snaps her leg. Armour drags her under. Water floods her lungs. Darkness closes. Strong hands pull her out. She coughs river muck onto the bank. Chrysadora kneels beside her: honey-gold skin, gleaming yellow eyes, black dress parted daringly, arms inked in subtle gold. Healing magic snaps bone into place - painful but swift. Tilly sits up, wary, still gripping the idol. Chrysadora watches with quiet amusement and warmth. “I’ll walk you to town,” she offers. “Buy you something better than river water.” Tilly hesitates, then nods. They set off together. Some treasures are stolen from shrines. Others are found on riverbanks - golden, unexpected, and kind. The road ahead waits. She has no idea where it leads.