After an hour, the glyph trail ended at a fallen column of stone, half-sunken near a small pool. The glyph was etched deeply at its base. By moonlight, it glowed. At its center was a spiral that shifted if you looked too long, like a door opening in memory.
Jude knelt and brushed water from the pool's surface. He cupped his hand and drank. The water was cold, unnaturally so, but left his chest alight. "It speaks drowningly," he murmured.
Susan leaned in to inspect the etching. It wasn't human. Not entirely. It wove into the stone unnatural shapes, roots, tendrils, the hint of a face hidden under bark patterns.
Grace plucked a petal and dropped it into the pool. It floated, shimmered, sank. A pulse rolled outward, rippling across the surface. The glyph glowed brighter.
Jude's breath caught. He touched the pool's edge again. This time, it responded, cold at first, then warm, then humming. He felt awareness beneath his palm, shifting.