Tobias rises and follows the thread north, letting it unspool through his fingers as he walks. The mountain's spine stretches ahead — a narrow ridge of wind-scoured stone where the snow lies thin and the sky presses close on both sides. The fairy rides his shoulder the whole way, one hand braced against his collar, her violet eyes fixed ahead. The thread grows warmer as he walks, almost eager, and the dark tower below grows more defined: its stones black as deep water, its single window a warm pinhole of amber light. Then the ridge dips and a path opens — carved steps descending through the rock, old and precise, as if someone expected a visitor. At the top of the steps, planted in a crack of stone, stands a small signpost. One arrow points down toward the tower. The other points into cloud.