You turn the locket over in your trembling hands, tracing the spiral etching until your thumb finds a hairline seam along the edge. A tiny clasp, disguised as a leaf in the pattern, clicks open with surprising ease. Inside the hidden compartment, a sliver of aged parchment unfolds to reveal a hand-drawn map: the stream, the bridge, the gnarled oaks, and a marked path winding up to a hilltop crowned with a jagged symbol. The crow on the signpost caws sharply, ruffling its feathers, as if urging you onward.

Beneath the map, a set of coordinates is written in faded ink, and a single word: "Hollow." The locket grows warmer in your palm, and the portrait's eyes seem to flick toward the hillside. The distant orange glow pulses gently, like a heartbeat, while the black water below begins to ripple in slow, deliberate circles. You sense that the locket is not just a key but a guide, and the choice of where to go now carries a weight you can almost feel in the air.