Chapter 2: The Map That Changed Everything

Landon stood at the bus stop, gripping his worn leather bag and staring at the mystifying map like it held the answer to every question he’d been too afraid to ask.

The inked trails and cryptic symbols practically pulsed under his gaze, like a heartbeat waiting to be followed. His finger traced a series of strange markings near a mountainous region, just west of civilization.

" Only the worthy shall find the Key."

The words gnawed at him.

This wasn’t some ordinary historical relic. This was something more. Something that felt like a call.

And right now, Landon needed a reason to answer.

A bus screeched to a stop in front of him, its doors wheezing open. The driver barely glanced up.

"You getting on or what?"

Landon hesitated. This was insane. He had no plan, no resources, just an old map and a feeling—one telling him that something out there was waiting for him.

With a deep breath, he stepped on.

As the doors hissed shut behind him, he felt the weight of a point of no return.

The ride was long and uneventful, the scenery shifting from suburban sprawl to rolling wilderness.

Landon sat near the back, his bag on his lap, flipping through his old survival notebook—a collection of hand-written notes, sketches, and reminders that he hadn’t looked at in years.

"Always be aware of your surroundings."

"Listen before you act."

"The forest has a voice. Pay attention to what it tells you."

His own lessons, staring back at him. Lessons he had spent years drilling into his campers. Kids who had soaked up everything he taught them like sponges, always eager, always ready.

"Stay sharp, Mr. Geo. What would you tell them if they were here?"

The bus lurched to a stop at the edge of a fading trailhead, a small, rusted sign marking the entrance to the wilderness. According to the map, this was the place—where he was supposed to find something.

"Alright, last stop," the driver called out. "You sure you wanna get off here, buddy? Ain't nothing but trees and regret up that way."

Landon smirked. "Sounds like my kind of place."

He stepped off, adjusting his bag. The moment the bus rumbled away, silence took over. No cars. No people.

Just trees, wind, and the quiet pulse of something ancient beneath his feet.

Landon walked the narrow, winding trail, his boots crunching against the damp earth. The air felt thick, the kind of humid stillness that comes before a storm. Something about this place felt... wrong.

For the first hour, he chalked it up to his own paranoia. But then the forest began to feel different.

Not alive.

Not dead.

Something else.

A kind of unnatural stillness, like the woods were holding their breath.

Then, it started.

First, it was the absence of birdsong. The usual chatter of the forest was gone, replaced by an eerie quiet that made the back of Landon’s neck prickle. Then, the faint rustling. Not the wind. Not an animal. Something else. Something deliberate.

Landon stopped walking. Listened. Held his breath. Nothing.

But he felt it. Eyes on him.

He adjusted his bag strap and kept moving, but now his instincts were screaming. He wasn’t just being watched. He was being tracked.

By the time Landon reached the rock formation marked on the map, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. He needed to set up camp soon.

But first…

He pulled out his old recorder—the same one he had used for years, back when his voice was a source of guidance, not a message in a bottle.

His thumb hovered over the record button. He never did things like this. Never recorded something unless it was a lesson. A story. A teachable moment.

But this wasn’t a lesson. This was a signal flare.

His own Gotham signal, not for Batman—but for the kids he had trained to be ready for something exactly like this. His kids.

The ones who knew how to survive.

The ones who might be his only hope.

Click.

"This is Landon Edenbaum, recording from somewhere west of nowhere. If you’re hearing this, then I guess things didn’t go as planned." He exhaled.