Ouroboros walked silently, her bare feet sinking into the soft forest floor. Each step produced a muffled sound of crunching dry leaves, mixed with the distant echo of insects and birds hidden beneath the closed canopy. The air was heavy, humid, and smelled of wet earth and ancient moss.
Behind her, Tiamat followed with firm but no less cautious steps. Despite the strength they both possessed, an invisible weight weighed on her shoulders: memory loss, uncertainty, the absence of the others.
The silence between them dragged on, until Ouroboros, unable to bear her own unease, spoke:
"Do you... remember anything?" Her voice was low, almost hesitant, as if afraid of the answer.
Tiamat looked up at the canopy above, where sunlight barely penetrated the massive leaves. There was a forced serenity on her face as she answered:
