They moved toward the faint straight line, and as they got closer, the shape became more obvious. It really was a path—narrow, simple, and pressed gently into the ground as if many small steps had once walked across it.

Fate stopped at the edge of it. "This doesn't look natural."

"No," the Dreamer said. "The meadow didn't make this by accident."

The path wasn't made of stones or dirt. It was just grass that had grown shorter and smoother, forming a line that continued far ahead. It didn't curve like the rest of the landscape. It went straight, almost perfectly so.

Fate stepped onto it. The ground felt firmer here, like it had been pressed down for a long time.

"It feels like someone used to walk this a lot," Fate said.

The Dreamer joined them on the path. "Or something did."

They followed the line, walking side by side. The path stayed steady—no breaks, no bends, no fading. It simply led forward, as if waiting for them.

After a few minutes, Fate noticed something up ahead. "There's something on the path."

It was small, almost hidden in the grass, but its shape didn't match anything natural. They walked closer, and the object became clearer—a single smooth pebble, white and round, sitting exactly in the center of the path. It didn't look like it belonged there, yet it wasn't out of place either.

Fate crouched and picked it up. "It's warm too," they said. "Like the grass patch before."

The Dreamer looked at the pebble carefully. "Maybe it's another sign. A simple one."

Fate held it in their hand for a moment longer, then slipped it into their pocket. "I don't know why, but I want to keep it."

"That might be a good idea," the Dreamer said.

They continued walking. The path stretched forward, still straight, still clear. The meadow around them stayed soft and calm, but the path felt different—more certain, more focused.

After a while, the straight line ahead changed again. Something new appeared in the distance, directly on the path. It was low, dark, and still, like a small shape waiting for them to arrive.

Fate slowed their steps. "There's something else ahead."

"Yes," the Dreamer said quietly. "This one looks solid."

They kept walking, their eyes fixed on the new shape, wondering what the meadow was finally leading them toward.

They walked closer, their pace steady but cautious. The shape on the ground didn't shift or fade like a trick of the light. It stayed there, dark against the pale grass, unmoving.

When they were near enough to see it clearly, Fate frowned a little.

"It's… a box?" they said.

It wasn't large—maybe the size of a book. Dark wood, simple edges, no carvings or metal, just a plain rectangular shape lying directly in the center of the path.

The Dreamer crouched beside it. "It doesn't look new. But it doesn't look broken or worn out either."

Fate knelt down too. They didn't touch it yet. "Why would something like this just be sitting here? Out in the open?"

The Dreamer looked around. "Nothing else in the meadow has been man-made. This is the first real object."

Fate reached out slowly and brushed the top of the box with their fingertips.

Warm.

Just like the grass patch. Just like the pebble.

"It has the same warmth," Fate said. "Like it was placed here recently… or it holds something."

The Dreamer nodded once. "Or someone wanted us to find it."

Fate slid their fingers under the lid and lifted it gently.

The box opened without any resistance—no lock, no latch, no sound. Inside, there was only one thing:

A small strip of cloth.

Soft. Pale. Folded neatly.

Fate lifted it out. "It's a ribbon," they said. "Why… just a ribbon?"

The Dreamer touched the inside of the box. "No dust. Nothing old about it. Someone put this here not long ago."

Fate held the ribbon between their hands. It wasn't warm like the pebble or the grass patch. It was cool, like it had been shaded or hidden until recently.

"It doesn't tell us much," Fate said.

"It tells us something," the Dreamer replied. "Someone is guiding this path."

Fate looked ahead. The path didn't end at the box. It continued forward, still straight, still certain.

"Well," Fate said, slipping the ribbon into their pocket beside the pebble. "If this path wants to show more, we'll follow it."

The Dreamer stood and nodded. "Then let's see what comes next."

They stepped past the box and kept walking, the straight path leading them forward once again—quiet, steady, and no longer just empty ground.

They moved forward, leaving the box behind them. The path stayed the same—straight, smooth, and pressed down by old footsteps. But now it felt different. It wasn't just a path anymore. It felt like a trail someone had prepared.

Fate kept glancing ahead, looking for the next sign. "Do you think we'll find something else soon?"

"Probably," the Dreamer said. "Whoever left the box didn't do it by accident."

The meadow around them stayed calm. The air was mild, the sky clear, and the grass barely moved. But the path seemed more focused the farther they walked, like it knew exactly where it wanted them to go.

After a few minutes, Fate slowed down again. "There. Something else."

It wasn't large. Just a small shape lying on the path like the box had been. But this time it wasn't dark. It was pale and a little shiny.

They walked closer until Fate could see it clearly—a feather. White, long, and clean, with no dirt on it at all.

Fate picked it up. "It's soft," they said. "Like it just fell."

The Dreamer looked up at the sky. "But there are no birds anywhere."

"Yeah," Fate said. "And it's lying too perfectly in the center of the path."

They examined the ground around it. No other feathers. No broken grass. No signs of something landing.

Fate held the feather lightly. "The pebble, the ribbon, now this… Why these things?"

"Maybe they're markers," the Dreamer said. "Small ones. To show we're going the right way."

Fate put the feather into their pocket with the others. "If that's true, then someone is leading us somewhere specific."

The Dreamer nodded. "Yes. And we're getting closer."

They continued walking. The path stayed the same, but Fate felt more aware now—watching the ground, the air, the edges of the meadow. Everything felt too neat, too placed.

After a while, the next change came into view. The straight path finally ended. Up ahead, the grass rose slightly, forming a gentle hill.

At the top of the hill stood something new—something simple, but unmistakably unusual.

A single wooden post.

Not a tree.

Not a branch.

A post, standing upright in the ground.

Fate stared at it. "Okay… that's definitely not natural."

"No," the Dreamer agreed. "This is the clearest sign yet."

They walked toward the hill, ready to see what the post was for—and what waited beyond it.

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