Chapter 117: The First Curator
The map of ley lines, with its ghostly grey tracings of the world's old wounds, hung on the cottage wall beside the many-stoned hearth. It was no longer just a tool for understanding; it was a roster of duty. The concept of curators had been accepted by the network's nascent council with a solemn, daunting sense of purpose. The question was not if, but who, and where first.
The choice was both practical and symbolic. The ley line they chose ran from the foothills south of Frosthold, through a sparse, rocky region known as the Whispering Barrens, and down to a forgotten stretch of coast. It was a line scarred by generations of failed mining ventures, skirmishes over poor land, and the slow, grinding departure of hope. It was a place where stories had ended in "not enough," over and over. If they could enrich that narrative, they could prove the concept anywhere.
The "who" was unexpected, yet inevitable: Finn.
