The trees broke suddenly—
And the world opened.
Ahead stretched a valley that shouldn't have been there.
Noé stopped first, blinking into the light.
Mira stepped beside him. "This... isn't on the map."
Lysira didn't answer. She was already focused.
The land was wrong.
Not in shape or color.
But in rhythm.
The wind didn't move with the trees.
The shadows didn't follow the sun.
And magic—
Magic hummed out of tune.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a chalk disk—etched with runes, once white, now pale blue.
She activated the spell silently.
The circle expanded beneath her feet. Glowed. Stabilized.
Noé looked at her. "Problem?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "Everything here is... too still."
Mira shivered. "Like a picture?"
"No," Lysira said. "Like something pretending to be still."
Then the light twitched.
Just for a second.
Noé stumbled back. "Did you see that?"
Lysira's circle flickered.
A sharp ring echoed.
Then again.
Like a heartbeat—out of sync.
The ground shifted.
Suddenly the grass beneath their feet was dry.
Then wet.
Then burned.
All in the blink of an eye.
The map in Mira's hand curled—faded at the edges.
Noé tried to speak—
And froze.
His voice didn't come out.
Not because of fear.
Because something had stolen the moment he would've spoken.
Lysira dropped to her knees.
She redrew the rune. Harder. Deeper.
"Hold.
Align.
Fix."
Her magic surged outward.
The world fought back.
The spell broke with a crack.
It wasn't loud.
But it was final.
The runes on the ground burned white—then inverted.
Lysira staggered, her hand pressed to her head.
Don't lose the circle.
Don't lose the circle—
She was losing it.
Noé stepped forward, grabbing her by the arm.
"Lysira—what's happening?"
Her eyes flared open. "Something's coming through."
Mira's voice trembled. "Through what?"
"The gap."
Then it hit.
Not wind.
Not light.
Memory.
A force like drowning in someone else's life.
A weight pressing against the back of the skull.
Thoughts that weren't yours, bleeding in.
Lysira dropped to one knee.
She couldn't remember the last glyph she drew.
She couldn't remember—
Her name?
No.
Not yet.
But it was slipping.
The air ahead bent.
Reality curled like a torn page.
And from that distortion—
he stepped out.
He looked like Noé.
Same hair. Same stance.
But his coat was too long. His face too calm. His eyes—
Empty.
Not dead.
Just done.
Finished.
As if he'd already lived it all and come back just to watch it burn again.
Mira gasped.
"Noé?"
Noé didn't move.
He stared at the thing with his face.
And that thing stared back.
"You shouldn't be here yet," the echo said.
Its voice was lower.
More certain.
Noé whispered, "What are you?"
The thing smiled.
"I'm the version you don't want to meet."
Lysira forced herself up.
Runes glowed across her arm, her body trembling under their weight.
"Noé," she said without looking away, "step back."
The echo turned its gaze on her.
"You. Caelira."
Lysira's heart stopped.
No one had said that name again. Not even Noé.
"You remember it," it said. "Even though they made you forget."
"Shut up."
The runes surged.
Lysira extended her hand.
"Contain!"
A spiral of glyphs burst outward, forming a perfect sphere—
For one second.
Then they reversed.
Inverted.
The magic unraveled itself.
Lysira stumbled.
"I—I can't hold it..."
Noé stepped between them.
Mira screamed, "Noé, don't—!"
But it was too late.
The echo moved.
It didn't walk.
It folded space.
One blink, and it was inches from Noé.
Another blink—
And it was behind him.
Hands on his shoulders.
"Let me show you what forgetting really feels like."
Lysira roared.
Her runes flared red, not blue.
She slammed her palm to the earth.
"Bind!"
This time, the spell held—barely.
Chains of light wrapped around the echo's limbs, locking it mid-motion.
It didn't struggle.
It smiled.
"You're not ready."
Then it vanished.
Not shattered.
Not defeated.
Just—
Gone.
Noé fell to one knee, breath shallow.
Mira ran to him.
Lysira followed—then paused.
Her hand shook.
She looked at her runes.
One was missing.
No—five.
She couldn't remember them.
She couldn't even describe them.
Noé looked up at her.
"You okay?"
She didn't answer.
Because she wasn't sure.
She could still speak.
She could still cast.
But something had been taken.
Not her magic.
Her context.
The world didn't go back to normal.
The air still pulsed.
Time still felt hesitant.
But the pressure had lifted.
Noé leaned against a tree, hand pressed to his shoulder where the echo had touched him. The spot wasn't burned—but it ached. Like something cold had tried to settle inside him.
Mira sat nearby, eyes darting to the horizon every few seconds.
Lysira stood a little apart.
Still.
Silent.
No one said it—but they were waiting to see if the world would try again.
It didn't.
Instead, the wind returned.
Soft. Hesitant.
Like even the forest had to remember how to breathe.
Lysira finally moved.
She sank down slowly onto the grass. Her knees were shaking.
Noé watched her.
Not the way he usually did—calm, curious, careful.
Now, he watched her like someone watching the end of a candle's light. Afraid to blink.
She stared at her hands.
Her runes had faded.
Not burned out.
Just... forgotten.
He walked over.
Sat down beside her.
"I don't know how to ask this," he said.
"Then don't."
"I'm going to anyway."
She sighed.
He waited.
Finally—she spoke.
"I lost something."
He didn't answer.
He just waited.
"I don't know what it was.
A word? A formula? A layer of my memory?
It's like—when you wake up and know you've dreamed something important... but you can't bring it back."
She looked at him. Her voice dropped.
"I'm scared it was part of me."
Noé's breath caught.
He didn't say something comforting.
Didn't promise she'd get it back.
He just nodded.
And said, "I believe you."
That broke something in her.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But she turned to him—just slightly—and her shoulder brushed his.
He didn't move away.
She didn't either.
They sat like that. Quiet.
The ticking from the watch had returned, faint in the distance.
Lysira looked at the ground.
Then—almost too quietly to hear:
"Do you think I'll change?"
Noé answered without hesitation.
"You already have."
She flinched.
But he continued.
"We all have. Since the gate. Since the bell. Since the grave."
Then, softer:
"You're not who you were when I first met you."
A pause.
"You're more."
She looked at him.
Really looked.
And said—
"You always say the right thing."
Noé smiled.
"I don't try to. I just... say what feels like it won't break someone."
Her voice dropped again. Almost a whisper.
"You're not afraid of me, are you?"
He blinked.
"No."
She looked away. "You should be."
"No," he repeated.
"Because you're the one person who tries so hard not to lose anything—
—that when something slips... you feel it ten times more."
He leaned just a little closer.
His shoulder against hers now. No accident.
"That's not something to be afraid of."
Then—
Quiet.
Stillness.
Her head rested lightly on his shoulder.
Only for a moment.
But it was the most honest thing she'd done all day.