You follow the path of packed earth until it, too, comes to an end, winding to the ocean as most trails eventually do. Here is the edge of your world. Beyond this, no map has been drawn.
It is not, however, the end of your journey.
In the morning, as you repacked, you found a small bell at the bottom of your bag, one you’d almost forgotten, one that rings with a sound like raindrops on crystal.
Now, standing on the beach of grey sand, you make it sing into the salt-sharpened air.
For a moment, nothing happens but that the waves continue to breathe over the shore. Then a robed monarch rises from the sea, impossibly beautiful and more graceful than anything you’ve seen.
“Child,” they say, because for them, all living beings are children. “What would you ask of me?”
To cross the ocean, you say. To see what lies beyond.
“And what would you give me in return?”
You’ve thought long about this, and you think perhaps only the vial of golden magic—given to you by a friend—is valuable enough for a boon such as this.
The monarch, however, shakes their head when you make the offer. “Keep that,” they say. “You will need that where you go. No. I will carry you in exchange for a story. Do you have one for me?”
You do. And you think it is just long enough to span your trip across the waves, if you don’t recount it too fast. It begins with a cup of tea and a forest.
“Good. Let us call it a fair exchange then. Come. I’ll show you what lies beyond.”
And so they take you through the waves to a place very few ever travel, where tales begin and end and begin again.
