Dering had gone to his Wonder as soon as he’d been able to. Getting Stirling’s message was a big deal. One day she’d been there and the next she’d been gone. Of course he’d panicked. Had the Negaverse gotten her? Had she been corrupted? Had someone killed her?

His head had swarmed with the worst thoughts. He laid in bed at night and imagined horrible circumstances, not because he wanted to but because he couldn’t get them out of his head. He’d made himself sick more times than he could count, and he carried the worry heavily in his heart. He wore his dread like a cloak, and each day without her, it grew heavier.

He had little things in life to keep him going, and he hoped she was okay.

Dering hadn’t given up when the letter came, but he was completely unprepared for the good news. He had no way to get in contact with her.

He knew about the Signet Ring, but he’d never found his. He hadn’t even been up to Dering by himself to look.

There was a full range of emotions swirling inside him. Panic, hope, worry, excitement, regret, frustration–he should have been more efficient. He should have found it earlier. So stupid! Maybe he could have actually messaged her that long ago to ask! Maybe she wouldn’t have been able to answer, but he could have–maybe he could have given her an address to write to or something.

He didn’t know. It was the sloppy, nonsensical stream of consciousness of an anxious teenager who was desperate to contact his friend.

Dering didn’t have a lot of money but he couldn’t steal. He didn’t have the heart for it. He’d gone to the store and found an array of necessities and packed them up, and that night he slipped out of his dorm room.

His Wonder was the exact same as he’d left it, although the fog seemed a bit more dense. It was slow moving and cold, and it felt heavy in his lungs.

Somewhere, there was a ring.

He didn’t know how big his forest was. He didn’t know where a ring would be hiding.

He started looking anyway.

It was panicked, as seemed to be his natural state. Dering checked under a strange looking rock. He stuck his head in a bush. He tried to climb a tree–fell–and dug a bit under its roots.

There was no ring.

He tried to find a path, but there was only dirt and grass. He looked in the petals of the sweet smelling flowers, but there was nothing but pollen.

The sun hung in the sky–or, he guessed it must be, because though it was grey and overcast, he could still see.

There were no hidden treasure chests, no mysterious buildings. He must have walked in a circle over a dozen times, always meeting back in the same point. He grew very familiar with the petrified tree stump but was able to ignore the temptation of taking a seat for a good, long while.

Finally, when fatigue overtook him, he collapsed on it.

Dering wasn't used to so much physical activity, but desperation had set in a long time ago. Anxiety and adrenaline had carried him so far. He felt the warm, stinging wetness of tears in his eyes but he fought against the urge to cry and instead buried his face in the palms of his hands so he could roughly massage them away.

Somewhere, here, there had to be a ring. If he couldn’t find it–what was he supposed to do? Walk to Stirling’s Wonder?

Oh, he might have to. Maybe he could go ask Lysithea for help, but…

Was that pathetic? He just wanted to see his friend. He just wanted to be a better Knight. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

He was alone here, failing. It would have been easy to sink into despair, in this lonely, cold, desolate forest. Dering wasn’t going to give up, though. No matter how hard this was. He just needed a moment to pull himself together.

He felt pathetic. Weak. Useless. Miserable.

A hundred times, probably more, he’d wondered why he was a Knight. His friend was out there, alone, and he was sitting here on a tree stump. Just crying about it.

That wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He needed to go back to looking. Dering was sore. Exhausted. Deflated. Not quite defeated; he didn’t really know when to give up. He’d keep looking until he was too exhausted to move.

Even if it was hard, even if he was full of doubt and worry, he would keep trying.

He sniffled once more, and then shamefully wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve before he forced himself to sit up. The surface of the stump was oddly smooth, as though it had been cut with a single stroke. The must have been impossible, though; it was wide enough that he could have sat where he was and laid back and still had room enough that his head could rest on it.

Maybe it had just smoothed out over the years. He ran his hand over it again, this time half turning to actually look at it. The wood itself had turned dark over the years, and when he knocked on it with his knuckle it sounded more like tapping on stone. At first, he’d thought the pale rings were otherwise unnoteworthy, but now that he was looking at it, something glinted.

Pale pastel color glittered in the rings, and he realized suddenly that each circle within the stump shined like a gemstone. If it was opal, it was the prettiest he’d ever seen, and even in the dull lighting he caught sparks of gold and pink and blue.

And, in the center of it all, a ring.

Dering had to turn in his seat and twisted to face it. When he ran his fingers over it he realized that the only part of the stump that wasn’t completely smooth was the section right in the middle that had been hollowed out, just enough to fit a single, golden ring.

It took him a moment to dig his nails into the grooves and pry it out, but when he did, his heart skipped a few beats. He held it in his palm to examine it. He didn’t know what a signet ring was supposed to look like, but this was a ring, wasn’t it? What else could it be? He hadn’t found anything else while he’d been here.

Never mind that he didn’t know how to use it, he’d found it–maybe. Probably. Hopefully. He slid it on his finger and stood quickly, but the bow he’d had in his lap tumbled to the ground. He wasn’t worried about it; if the string broke, it wasn’t like he had a violin to play.

He couldn’t take his eye off the ring, so when he knelt and felt around for the bow, he didn’t even realize that it was gone. His fingers curled around the base of a lute, and before he knew it, he was nearly jumping away.

It hadn’t been there before, he’d have noticed an instrument this big before he sat down. If it had been here before, there was no way he’d have walked by this stump so many times before and missed the ring.

Oh. Wait.

This whole time, he’d been pleading in his head for help finding his ring. He hadn’t thought anything of the tree stump that he’d passed–one of the few landmarks that he’d recognized.

…Had his feet known where to go this whole time?

The lute was heavier than the violin bow he’d just had, but something about it seemed important. He felt rejuvenated. He felt stronger.

…If his feet had led him here, could they lead him anywhere? He didn’t know how to use his ring and he didn’t want to go back to Earth to ask, not when he felt so close.

If he thought about it hard enough, could he find Brooklyn, too?

For a moment, Dering stood there. He held the lute to his chest. What was he supposed to do with something that big? …He couldn’t leave it here. Where was his bow?

A few seconds more passed and then that clicked, too. He scurried around the stump but his bow was absolutely, completely gone. When he tried to will it back to him, nothing happened. He became a bit more aware of the lute in his arms. There were similarities to his bow, but it was so much bigger, and–

Oh. His outfit was different.

He didn’t have time for this! He had to find Brooklyn! This must have been another sign. It had to be.

He was on the right path.

…So, he just needed to trust his feet again.

He looked into the hazy sky but found no stars or light to guide him. There were no paths, no landmarks here that he recognized.

Dering sucked in a breath and looked ahead. He’d trust his feet again.