The road disappeared two hours ago.
Now only fog remained.
It clung to the ground like memory—thick, cold, refusing to lift. Trees bent inward, their branches like arms reaching for something just out of reach.
Noé walked first, the pendant quiet against his chest. Mira and Lysira followed, silent but close.
None of them spoke.
There was nothing to say—not yet.
The map the medallion had shown them had ended somewhere behind them. Now they walked by instinct. Or maybe something else.
Guidance? Or memory?
The mist thinned just enough to reveal a shape ahead.
A village. Small. Crooked roofs. Faint lights in the windows.
But there were no signs. No name on the gate.
Just a feeling.
A pull in Noé's chest, like the past whispering: You've been here before.
But he hadn't.
Had he?
The village didn't move.
No voices.
No animals.
Not even the wind.
They passed the crooked wooden gate, its hinges cracked with age. Noé looked around—everything looked... paused.
A well with no rope. A swing moving, but no child. An open window, curtains still.
"Where is everyone?" Mira whispered.
Lysira didn't answer. Her fingers brushed her wrist, runes already reacting to the air.
Then—
A creak.
One door opened.
Then another.
Shadows stepped out.
First one. Then three. Then a dozen. All silent. All staring.
They wore rough clothing, handmade coats, boots wrapped in cloth. Some were old. Some were barely older than Mira.
And when their eyes locked on the uniforms—
They changed.
From stillness to tension.
From curiosity to fear.
One man hissed.
"Academy."
Another spat at the ground.
"They've come back."
Noé stepped forward, hands raised.
"We're not here to hurt you."
But no one moved.
Not yet.
The silence was broken not by shouting—
—but by whispers.
All around them, the villagers began to speak.
But not to each other.
Each one repeated the same phrase, soft, slow, like a lullaby half-forgotten.
"Return the breath. Return the mark. Return the one we laid in dark."
Noé's breath caught.
The fog didn't lift—but something changed in the air.
An old woman stepped forward. Her back bent, her staff twisted like tree roots. Her eyes... cloudy with time, but locked on him.
She walked right up to Noé.
And knelt.
"You carry the mark," she said, her voice brittle. "Of the boy we buried fifty years ago."
Noé took a step back.
"I don't—what do you mean?"
She raised a shaking hand.
And pointed—past the square, beyond the crooked rooftops.
To a hill.
There, a stone stood half-swallowed by moss.
A name chiseled deep.
Weather-worn. Almost unreadable.
But not quite.
It wasn't "Noé."
It was someone he'd never met.
And yet somehow, he knew it.
They stood before the stone.
The hill was silent, the grass still.
Noé didn't move. He couldn't. The name carved into the grave was fading, but it burned in his mind.
He had never heard it.
But it felt like it belonged to him.
Mira touched the stone first.
She gasped.
The world blurred.
For just a second—she was there.
The village, but younger.
The sun high.
And she was standing under a tree, laughing.
Noé smiled at her—reached out—and kissed her.
It was gentle. Natural.
And then—
She snapped back.
Eyes wide. Breathing fast.
Lysira had touched the stone next.
She saw something else.
Same tree. Same sun.
But it was her. Not Mira.
And Noé kissed her.
Not shy. Not careful. But like he had waited years.
She pulled her hand away—too fast. Too stunned.
Noé turned to them.
"What's wrong?"
Neither of them answered.
Because they didn't know what was worse:
That they had seen it.
Or that he hadn't.
They didn't speak for a long time.
The grass moved, but no wind blew.
The stone stood quiet. Unchanged.
Until Noé stepped closer.
And knelt.
His fingers brushed the base of the grave—and stopped on something rough.
Wood.
He pulled gently.
A small, weathered box came free.
Inside: a book, leather-bound, the pages yellowed and soft at the edges.
He opened it.
"Year 328. Third Cycle of the Aeternum Bloom."
Mira peered over his shoulder.
"Is that... a journal?"
Lysira said nothing. Her eyes were still on the stone.
The writing was soft, shaky—but personal.
"He was quiet. Kind. Said strange things about clocks and dreams.
I think I loved him.
I think he forgot."
The next few pages were torn.
But one line remained.
"He said he'd come back when the clocks rewind. He promised."
Noé gripped the cover.
The stone behind him shimmered—only for a breath.
And the name changed.
Just for a second.
To: Noé.
The name on the stone faded again—back to the one from before.
But Noé didn't move.
The journal lay open on his knees, the last words still echoing in his mind:
"He said he'd come back when the clocks rewind. He promised."
He wasn't cold, but his skin felt distant.
He wasn't alone, but the silence between the three of them felt like a wall.
Then—
The world blinked.
Like someone had turned a page in the air.
Suddenly, Noé was not at the grave anymore.
He stood in a room made of sky and mist.
No walls. No ceiling. No direction. Only soft light—and ticking.
Gentle. Constant.
A massive clock floated above him, its hands spinning backward.
And in the middle of that endless place—
A boy stood.
His hair was the same. His face.
But younger. Thinner. His eyes held centuries of silence.
He didn't look at Noé.
He looked past him. Through him.
Like he wasn't surprised to see him at all.
Noé tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
The boy stepped forward.
And smiled—sad, soft, broken.
"So you made it."
His voice sounded like old paper.
Noé's throat tightened. "Who... are you?"
The boy tilted his head.
"I'm the memory they weren't supposed to keep."
He pointed to the mark on Noé's arm.
"When they buried me, I was still thinking of her. But I forgot her name. So the world forgot me."
He looked down.
"But you remembered. That's why you exist."
Noé took a shaky breath.
"I don't understand."
The boy smiled again—this time, a little brighter. A little hopeful.
"You don't need to. Just keep walking. Don't stop. Or you'll become me."
The world blinked again.
Tick.
Tick.
Noé gasped—back on the hill.
The stone. The grave. The journal.
Lysira had a hand on his shoulder. Mira was kneeling beside him.
"Noé?" she whispered. "What just happened?"
He looked up.
And for the first time—
He was afraid to answer.