The scorching sun beat down relentlessly on the desolate, cracked earth, mirroring the arid landscape of Anderson's soul. He trudged forward, his black leather jacket clinging to his sweat-soaked back, a duffle bag heavy with forbidden knowledge slung over his shoulder. Miles ago, his car had given up, but he hadn't. Not after everything. Not when he was this close.

Ahead, the mirage-like haze solidified into a stark reality: the crossroads. Four dusty roads converged, marked by a leaning, ancient signpost. 'NOWHERE' pointed in three directions, while 'MAYBE SOMEWHERE' marked the path he'd already traveled. A wry, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. This was it. The culmination of months of desperate research, a final, desperate gamble.

He dropped his duffle bag, the soft thud echoing in the silence. Relief washed over his aching shoulders. From within, he carefully extracted four sharpened, black poles, each etched with symbols he didn't fully comprehend. With grim determination, he began the arduous task of hammering them into the unyielding ground, ten inches deep at the center of each converging road. The sun continued its merciless assault, sweat stinging his eyes, but he worked on, haunted by the memory of soft red hair and a voice he would give anything to hear again. This had to work. It simply had to.