Some cities are built in stone. Others are built in omission. Kan Tun is a name that keeps showing up where it should not: on half-erased inventory ledgers, in riverboat stories told too quietly, on the edge of old photographs where someone tried to scratch it out. The map in your possession does not point to a destination so much as it points to a pattern. The top is missing, the scale is wrong, and the symbols refuse to behave like a normal key. You begin in San Ixtal, a river town that survives on transit and silence. In the smoke of the tavern and the glare of the market, you will have to do what you do best: notice what other people step over. Listen, compare, test. Every shortcut has a cost. Every clear path has a reason it was cleared. Beyond the last clean street, the jungle takes over. Shrines, collapsed works, and black stone that feels too smooth for its age wait in the green. The map offers hints, but never comfort. If you want Kan Tun, you will have to earn each step, and carry the consequences with you.