To Anton, from Celeste

Cazzo receives a delivery from a courier. There is little explanation, but there is this letter.

Anton,

Forgive my familiarity, sir. I only know your given name as relayed to me by your nephew, Milo. I am his friend and write to you because I know not what else I should do.

After Milo left us, this package arrived for him. It is from Angelo Threesisters, a sagacious man from the east. He is an archivist, if you will, a lover of books and antiquity. This is why Milo sought his council, epistolarily, at no small cost.

Milo suffered from terrible nightmares. He would bemoan black smoke worms, tendrils that he swore plucked thoughts from his head. He wailed the name Mordecai, the one whom he swore cursed him. He would despair inconsolably.

There were also good days, but with declining frequency.

Mr. Threesisters was paid to provide lore and insight from the annals of history, especially with regard to the an elevated point miles south of the ruined city of Rhest. Milo called this Starsong Hill.

Milo must have forgotten hiring Mr. Threesisters, or counted the pay as a loss. Considerable time has passed since the deal was struck.

Behold, the sage has provided something of note, however. At least, that is my hope. I forward the package to you unopened expecting that you will see Milo before I do.

In good faith,

Celeste.