Rowan saw a small figure running through the crowd, with a torn cloak fluttering behind them. The hood stayed low, hiding their face, but Rowan caught a flash of something small and shiny in their hand.

Rowan shot to his feet. “Hey! Stop!”

But the thief rushed ahead, bumping into someone before running off at full speed.

“Bjorn!” Rowan shouted as he instantly chased after the figure; his voice cut through the music. “Someone stole the compass!” He shouted over his shoulder.

“What?!” Bjorn called back, but Rowan was already weaving into the crowd.

He ran through the maze of tents, smoke from cooking fires stinging his nose and the sweet smell of roasted nuts swirling around him. Lanterns swung in the air, painting streaks of gold across the canvas walls. Merchants shouted in surprise as Rowan chased the thief.

“Stop! Come back here!”

The thief never looked back. They slipped under a hanging windchime, its silver notes jingling wildly, and darted between two narrow tents. Rowan followed, beads rattling across his shoulders as he shoved through the fabric walls. Behind him, a stack of bowls tumbled to the ground with a crash.

“Sorry!” he yelled over his shoulder.

The thief darted through a fruit stall, sending a basket of glowing pears tumbling across the ground. Rowan skidded after them, his boots squishing against the smashed fruit. He windmilled his arms wildly to keep from slipping on the fruit.

Ahead, the thief sprinted across a narrow plank bridge stretched between two wagons. The wood rattled under their feet. 

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Rowan charged after them, pounding the boards, until the bridge wobbled beneath his weight. Halfway across, the thief flung a small pouch over their shoulder.

FWOOOSH!

A cloud of violet mist burst open, swirling like ghostly smoke. Rowan coughed as his eyes started stinging and the haze wrapped around him. Through the drifting cloud, he saw the thief go into another row of tents.

“Come on,” Rowan moaned.

He lifted his hand, and the breeze answered at once. It was steady, like an old friend waiting for his cue. Rowan shot his hand forward.

WHOOSH!

Rowan jumped, and the wind carried him over a teetering stack of crates. He landed hard, but rolled smoothly across the ground and popped back onto his feet. The breeze stayed with him, pushing at his back as if urging him faster.

Up ahead, the thief skidded around a corner, then froze.

Rowan lifted his hand. The air curled tight around his palm, coiling and tensing like a bowstring ready to snap. 

“Go!” he whispered and pushed his hand forward.

The wind obeyed with a sharp snap, the gust tore free and slammed into the thief, hurling them sideways into a pile of barrels.

CRASH!

Wood clattered in a noisy avalanche. A canvas sheet slid loose and collapsed in a heap, burying the thief in a tangled mess. Something small and metallic clinked against the dirt and skittered to a stop.

It was the compass.

Rowan quickly picked it up. Beneath the sagging canvas, something shifted. Rowan crouched and pulled back the canvas. A freckled face looked up at him, which was far younger than he had ever expected.

A kid? Rowan thought.

The thief’s wide eyes darted like a trapped animal’s, caught between fear and defiance.

“You could have stolen anything,” Rowan asked. “Why this?”

The kid gave a lopsided shrug. “Didn’t know what it was. Just looked important and people usually hide the good stuff in small things.”

Heavy footsteps thundered closer. Bjorn came barreling around the corner.

“Rowan! Are you alright?!”

“I’m fine,” Rowan said, though his chest still heaved with every breath. He kept his eyes on the kid, the compass clutched tight in his hand. “Got the compass back.”

Bjorn’s gaze dropped to the scrawny figure tangled in barrels and canvas. “That’s who you were chasing?”

The kid raised both hands high in an exaggerated surrender. “Not dangerous. Just very good at not being seen.”

Bjorn grunted. “Sneaky isn’t something to brag about.”

Rowan stepped forward. “It’s alright. Nobody was hurt.”

The kid wiggled free of the canvas and brushed off his torn cloak, sending a puff of dust into the air. “Well, you’ve got your compass back, so let’s just call it… What’s the word…” the kid tapped his chin, then snapped his fingers. “Oh ya! A misunderstanding.”

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck before putting the compass in his pocket. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.”

The kid tilted his head with curiosity. “What’s so special about that compass anyway? Doesn’t look like much.”

Rowan hesitated, then said quietly, “I need it to help me find the Unity Koro.”

The kid’s grin returned. “Unity Koro, huh? That’s a big thing to chase with just a compass. Luckily for you, I might have something that helps.” The kid plunged both hands into his deep, mismatched pockets. Out spilled a rain of odd treasures: a chipped marble that bounced across the stones, a bent slingshot, even half a jam tart wrapped in lint. At last, they pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. 

“This,” the kid said proudly, holding it up, “was what I meant to sell, until your compass caught my eye.”

Rowan took the parchment carefully. Unfolding it, he saw faded lines tracing a winding trail through jagged peaks. In the corner, written in uneven ink, were the words:

Where wind never sleeps, the crown remembers.

Bjorn leaned closer. “You think Sorin was right about the Stormreach Peaks?”

Rowan looked at Bjorn and nodded. “Looks like it.”

Bjorn looked at the kid. “Where did you get this?” 

The kid shrugged, stuffing the jam tart back into his pocket as if it were the most delicious thing in the world. “Picked it off some traveler passing through Rivenrest, just before the Shadowlands swallowed half the valley. Figured it might be worth something.”

Rowan’s eyes stayed fixed on the parchment. The words pulsed in his thoughts like thunder rolling across distant hills. This wasn’t just another campfire story. This was another clue, leading straight to the same spot.

Bjorn crossed his arms. “You got a name, shadow-foot?”

“Kess,” the kid replied simply.

“Alright, Kess. I’d say we’re even.” Rowan said.

“Alright then, I’m out of here.” And with a playful bow, Kess slipped back into the crowd and was gone.