Lysira dreamed of warmth.
But it wasn't real warmth.
It was the kind of warmth you only feel when you wake up and wish it were still there.
A hand on her shoulder.
A voice she couldn't remember.
A name she hadn't heard in days—but knew she used to whisper.
She was standing on a grassy field under stars that didn't blink.
Someone stood beside her.
But their face was always just out of focus.
"If I forget you, will it hurt?"
The figure didn't answer.
"Will I know?"
Still silence.
Then a soft echo in her mind:
You won't remember.
But you will still feel it.
She turned—
And no one was there.
Just sky.
And a strange pressure behind her eyes.
She woke up with a single tear on her cheek.
And no idea why.
The Archive did not walk.
It didn't breathe, or hunt, or dream.
It remembered.
And right now, it remembered him.
The one who fractured time.
Who touched the unsealed bell and kissed the one name that should have been left untouched.
The creature in the silver mask stood at the edge of a dying tree, its cloak motionless in the wind.
Its voice came not as sound, but through the roots beneath the earth, through runes forgotten in old stairwells, through candles that refused to go out.
"He moved beyond the point."
It stepped forward.
The landscape did not change.
Meaning did.
And with that step, the Archive began the Retrieval Phase.
No light.
No sound.
Only a shadow on the edge of truth.
The forest was calm.
Mira sat cross-legged near a stream, brushing her fingers along the water's edge. The air was light, the sun soft. Birds chirped, and for once—no tension.
Noé was nearby, checking the medallion again. It had stopped glowing two days ago, but he couldn't stop himself from turning it over in his palm again and again.
He didn't know why.
It wasn't habit.
It was something else.
A silence between thoughts.
"You keep looking at it," Mira said.
He shrugged. "Feels like it should mean something."
She tilted her head. "Does it?"
Noé paused. Looked at the lines, the runes along the edge.
Then softly:
"I don't remember."
"Don't remember what?"
He shook his head.
"That's the problem. I don't even know what I'm missing."
Mira stood, dusting off her cloak.
"Well, that makes two of us."
He looked at her.
She smiled.
But in her eyes—
something moved.
A flicker of emotion that didn't have a name.
Something she hadn't felt since—
Since when?
She didn't know.
Deep beneath the Academy, the bell without hands ticked once.
And the sky above the forest trembled.
The forest didn't return to normal.
It simply... settled.
As if it had decided not to collapse just yet.
Noé leaned against a tree, breathing hard. Mira knelt beside him, her hand still gripping his wrist. Lysira stood nearby, one hand on her chest, the other wrapped tight around her casting bracelet.
None of them spoke.
Because none of them had words for what just happened.
Finally, Mira said:
"That wasn't an illusion."
Lysira nodded. "No. That was... a memory. One that didn't belong to any of us."
Noé stared at the space where the sundial had been.
"I think... it was mine."
They turned toward him.
"What do you mean?" Lysira asked quietly.
He hesitated.
"I saw you," he said. "Not just now. Before. On a roof. You said—"
He stopped.
His mouth wouldn't move.
Something in him refused to let the sentence finish.
Mira touched his shoulder.
"It's alright."
Noé looked up.
And behind her—
deep between the trees—
he saw movement.
Not a person.
A presence.
Watching.
Waiting.
He stood quickly. "We have to go."
"Where?" Lysira asked.
"Anywhere but here."
They moved in silence.
The woods stretched longer than before.
Moss clung to their boots. Shadows reached a little too far. The air tasted like memory—sharp and sweet and dangerous.
And then—
the path bent.
It didn't twist.
It bent.
Like it was being pulled by something else.
Noé stopped walking.
So did Mira.
Lysira froze.
Ahead, the air shimmered.
A shape stepped through.
Not tall.
Not monstrous.
Just... certain.
Wrapped in faded grey cloth.
A silver mask with no eyes.
And on its forehead—
the rune for "Recall."
The air between them thickened.
The figure with the silver mask didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't exist the way other things did.
It just was.
Noé stepped in front of Mira without thinking.
Lysira moved to his side, her hands glowing faintly—ready but uncertain.
Then the memories began.
Not words.
Not spells.
Images.
Flashing.
• Noé standing in front of a gate made of starlight.
• Mira laughing in a courtyard that had no name.
• Lysira, younger, sitting alone under a broken clocktower.
The images weren't threatening.
They were invitations.
Come back, they whispered.
Noé gritted his teeth.
"What do you want?" he asked, voice rough.
The masked being tilted its head.
Another image.
Noé—older.
Standing alone at a crossroads.
A path ahead.
A path behind.
Neither complete.
Neither right.
Just... choices.
Mira took a step back.
"This thing... it's not trying to kill us."
"No," Lysira said. Her voice was steady, but her hand trembled.
"It's trying to choose us."
Noé's heart hammered in his chest.
He felt the pull—stronger now.
The memories wanted him.
The Archive wanted him.
But he didn't know why.
And worst of all—
a small part of him wanted to say yes.
Mira didn't mean to step forward.
She didn't mean to reach.
But when one of the floating fragments hovered near her cheek—
A soft image of a silver bell under moonlight—
She felt her fingers move.
She touched it.
The world ignited.
Not with flame.
With knowing.
A thousand thoughts crashed into her mind.
• A door with no handle.
• A name whispered by someone she never met.
• The sound of a kiss she shouldn't remember.
She fell to her knees, gasping.
"Mira!" Noé rushed toward her, but stopped—
The moment he touched her, his fingers burned.
The air around her shimmered gold and red.
She looked up.
And spoke a name:
"Elvarein."
The masked figure paused.
The Archive recognized that word.
It shimmered—shifted—
And the ground beneath them all pulsed once, violently.
She had remembered something that was meant to stay lost.
Lysira grabbed Noé's hand.
"Back away—NOW."
He didn't move.
He couldn't.
His eyes were fixed on Mira.
Because in her face—
For a fraction of a second—
He saw the same sorrow
he remembered
from the rooftop.
But he didn't remember the kiss.
Only the feeling of something he'd almost had.
And lost.
Mira's eyes glowed gold.
Not brightly.
Not violently.
Just enough to show that they no longer belonged only to her.
She turned toward Noé.
And when she spoke—
The voice wasn't hers.
"Bearer recognized.
Thread unstable.
Choice... delayed."
Noé took a step back.
"Mira?"
She didn't blink.
"System retrieval failed.
Alternate route authorized."
Her hand lifted.
Toward him.
But it didn't touch.
It simply waited.
Noé felt the weight of it—not on his skin, but in his chest.
As if she was asking:
Do you want to stay forgotten?
Or do you want to remember... me?
Lysira reacted first.
She threw a spell between them—pure white, a sealing glyph.
The connection shattered.
Mira collapsed.
Noé gasped.
And the masked figure staggered—just slightly—as if recoiling from something it hadn't expected:
Resistance.
Lysira rushed to Mira's side, lifting her.
Noé knelt next to them, eyes wide.
"She spoke like..."
"Like she wasn't herself," Lysira finished.
They looked at each other.
Then toward the still, unreadable figure beyond the trees.
And Noé said quietly:
"It doesn't want to erase us.
It wants to see if we'll do it ourselves."
The masked figure didn't speak.
Didn't vanish.
It simply stepped backward—
and the forest folded around it.
The trees filled in. The light returned. The air... forgot.
And when it was gone, so was the pressure.
Mira stirred in Lysira's arms.
"I'm okay," she whispered. "I think..."
Noé sat still.
Then turned.
A piece of parchment lay at the base of the nearest tree.
Crisp.
Untouched by the fight.
He picked it up slowly.
Unfolded it.
And stared.
There was no ink.
Just etched lines of silver.
And names.
Some were familiar.
Some—
"This one," Noé said quietly, pointing,
"I've never seen before."
Lysira leaned closer.
"I have," she said.
"But not in this life."
Mira looked between them.
"What is it?"
Noé ran his fingers along the surface.
The lines shimmered.
And for a heartbeat—
he saw a rooftop.
A girl.
A kiss that never happened.
He blinked.
The image was gone.
But the map remained.
Waiting.