Inase screamed.
But even with how loud his voice was, Hosen couldn't hear it through the intense cries of the crickets.
"Ugh…"
His head pounded. The constant noise was driving him insane. It felt worse than encountering an eldritch creature (in his opinion). Still, he had to keep a clear mind and come up with a new strategy to get out of here.
He was already in a place he didn't recognize, so he wasn't going to play nice and stay here until death reaps his soul.
Leaves crunched under his soles with every step forward, adding to the clatter of overstimulating sounds.
"Those cursed… bugs!"
He had to think, but he didn't have time for that, because soon… the air shifted.
The crickets stopped. The air grew still, soothing and relieving. Thank the universe.
His mind cleared up. The buzzing—gone.
However, silence was not all that occurred. The stench of moss and rot faded too, replaced by lilac and lavender.
Trees parted, revealing a narrow path dusted in soft petals. Light warmed the leaves above—not the sickly green of the death forest, but sunlight. Honest, golden sunlight. Up in the sky, still intact by calamity. It lit his way.
"..."
Hosen knew this place.
…right. The same feeling of longing filled his chest when he had walked through Manhattan on the first day of the apocalypse.
Although city regions were in a far worse state than… here. Countrysides were less damaged, especially those with desolate acres of land untouched by human hand, such as this—a lone spot hidden between plum orchards.
The sun tickled his skin. Without the blue sky, it was still beautiful—the planets drifting above with slow grace.
The ivy, green and lush, still curled up the trellis like curious fingers, and creeping up a white garden gate. Tiny blossoms peeked between the leaves, releasing a faint sweetness that carried on the warm air.
The gate creaked open, inviting Hosen inside.
The countryside stretched beyond, a quiet shelter between abandoned orchards where nothing could find it.
Peeking through was a garden where he'd scraped his knees under the plum tree while hunting ripe fruits. Where he'd buried childhood treasures beneath the rosebush. His garden, where he'd sat under the willow whose soft rustle of the leaves had lulled him to an afternoon nap.
His paradise, where shadows cooled rather than frightened, and the air smelled of grass after rain.
He was… home.
A birdsong flew overhead—the great tit that had woven itself a nest high in the branches—its voice ringing bright as tiny silver bells. Butterflies danced between marigolds and foxgloves, their wings catching the light in a brilliant yellow hue. Somewhere nearby, the wind carried rosemary and mint, mingling with the faint scent of roses.
The gentle creak of the gate sounded like an old friend's sigh.
Hosen stepped through, unblinking, mesmerized by nostalgia. His gaze swept over the scene—everything was exactly as it had been. Untouched. Safe.
The house stood at the end of the path—built from scratch—its wooden beams honey-worn and solid. Its walls were made from timber and stone, arranged neatly, with a tiled roof and a small chimney peeking above. Wide windows and a front porch gave it a welcoming, rustic feel.
Every flowerbed had been planted by hand during the first months after they'd escaped Manhattan. Somehow, here, the world still felt whole, as if the horrors from another dimension had never touched it.
And at last, his eye sparked once he saw two figures standing on the porch.
They waved—smiling, as if time had never moved. Their voices chimed, calling out their son's name.
Hosen's gaze travelled to the willow tree.
As always, the young kid sat beneath, sketching rare species of animals that wandered near. His eyes portrayed childish fascination. For the first time, he had seen a mutated lizard, with five legs, no less! An odd pink hue illuminated from its scales under the bright sun. Oh, and—
Once he heard their voices, he closed the notebook and sprang up.
The boy ran through the grass, arms outstretched, laughter bright, and passed right beside Hosen without noticing, because in reality, he didn't see him. He was a memory—a younger version of himself—barefoot, dirt on his shirt, ink stains on his fingers. Colorful and alive.
The boy jumped into his parents' arms, but they didn't focus on returning his affection. Their attention was kept on the scientist.
Waiting.
"Come in, son."
They saw him.
What?
At first, Hosen was confused. How could it be possible that a memory recognized the current him? How could he be a part of their lives when he had aged, had changed, had moved on?
Was he worth reuniting with them? How could it be that they're still…?
But once he saw their gentle smiles, it no longer mattered.
He followed to the porch, hesitant at first. He walked closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread. Their welcomed arms opened, so in the end, his did too. His fingers itched to reach out, to feel their warmth, to believe—
"Hosen…"
—in a perfect family picture.
"Hosen."
…before the color took everything away.
"Hosen."
Pigment drained from the surroundings. Monochrome flooded the scenery, turning everything gray.
Hosen's breath caught dry in the back of his throat.
"Hosen!"
The scent of lilac decayed. Only rot remained.
Flowers lost color. Animals mutated. The house turned into a scene out of horror. Not a memory.
The porch twisted, beams groaning as the figures blurred together, their faces merging into something featureless. They no longer smiled.
Hosen wavered as the reality shattered around him, warmth draining from the air.
The serene garden became a nightmare's sketch. It collapsed into ash, offering to take him with it.
"I guess… this forest is the worst possible match for me."
Hosen's voice cracked as if he was verge of breaking. He sounded almost sad, but the bitter smile that followed showed he had accepted it.
He surrendered to the illusion. The yearning to disappear with his family swelled within him. Perhaps it would have been better if he had.
Everything else—nothing mattered.
The young boy stayed. Then, he turned—his eyes shimmered unnaturally, like magenta marbles that reflected too much light.
"DOC—!"
Suddenly, Hosen's eyes flew open.
The illusion scattered. The orchard was replaced once more by the forest—the wrong forest. The one full of trees that watched, those which bark peeled back like eyelids. With pupils dilated.
A hand from behind gripped his shoulder.
Firm. Real. Present.
It was Inase. Not the boy, nor the two figures on the porch, neither a memory. Inase, with blood on his face and panic in his eyes. He has been calling out to his buddy for a long while.
"Finally snapped out of it, didn't ya?"
Hosen's hand still hovered in the air, as if reaching for the parents who were no longer there.
But something else was. Close enough for his fingers to brush its bark. It smelled of crushed pine.
Brought back to reality, he was met with two glimmering orbs, intently staring back at him. Hypnotizing, yet terrifying at the same time.
Not a tree. Not a person.
An entity.
Its head tilted unnervingly.
The two harrowing eyes, which shone like molten amber, belonged to an empty head with no facial features—with an indent of hollow beauty, hidden within the shade of the branches and vines. They shifted between warmth and predatory hunger, watching Hosen with otherworldly curiosity.
From its head sprouted jagged antlers—twisted, dead branches, dripping with faint golden ichor—a crown of thick tines spreading into the shape of two hands that reached toward the heavens in prayer.
At first, it swayed with the grace of a woman. Her upper body bore a hauntingly divine femininity, yet her form was unnervingly distorted. Pale limbs, too long, bent through joints in uncanny directions, and flesh flowed into bark-wrought armor.
Her lower half was an unholy fusion of elk and predatory bloom. Four jointed limbs ended in blackened, root-formed hooves, evoking a twisted centaur. Around her elk-like torso, petaled mouths unfurled to reveal rows of serrated, fang-lined maws.
Her silhouette was disorienting—part forest guardian, part nightmare predator.
Watching illusions was one thing—but this? It wasn't an illusion.
This watched him back.