The chamber dimmed behind me like the world was closing one eye.
I didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
The truth had already carved its initials into my ribs.
The path beneath me shimmered — not silver, not gold, something older, like moonlight soaked in grief. It didn't feel like walking. It felt like answering a call I hadn't known I'd been avoiding.
The forest was waiting.
Perennial Forest, Eastern Vein
The air here was thick with breath. Not wind. Breath. Like the land itself was holding its inhale for me.
Each tree stood like a witness. Ancient. Watching.
They didn't creak or groan. They listened.
My feet found moss. My fingers grazed bark. I didn't need sight. The forest guided me through vibration, like a pulse I could trace under the surface of things.
Then—
A whimper.
Small. Familiar.
I froze mid-step. "Floof?"
The trees parted.
And he bolted.
Warm fur. Wild joy. A blur of squirming limbs and desperate noise that slammed into me and knocked me flat. I hit the mossy ground with a thud and a laugh I didn't know I still had in me.
"Floof," I gasped, wrapping my arms around him. "You stupid, beautiful mutt—"
He licked everything. My chin. My cheeks. My nose. Tail thumping like a war drum.
I buried my face in his neck. He smelled like smoke and damp leaves and home.
"I thought you were gone," I whispered. "I thought… they took you."
He whined again. Softer this time. Like an apology. Like forgiveness.
I held him tighter.
For a moment, I let the world stop.
But he pulled away first.
Not far—just enough to look at me. Really look. His ears perked. His body went stiff.
Then he turned.
Trotted a few paces forward.
Looked back.
Trotted again.
"Floof," I said slowly, wiping my face. "What are you…?"
He barked.
Once.
Clear. Urgent.
And I understood.
He wasn't found.
He was sent.
He was leading me.
Perennial Forest, Northern Verge
(Misty Oaks in sight)
The trees changed the closer we got.
No longer ancient and welcoming.
Now: crooked. Uneasy. Like they remembered something terrible.
And there, through the mist—
Misty Oaks.
It loomed like a bruise on the horizon. Still black. Still elegant. Still wrong.
The iron gates didn't creak. They groaned.
Floof didn't bark again. He walked beside me like a ghost that had returned to its grave.
Each step onto the stone staircase was a reckoning.
Each breath tasted like something I'd buried.
We passed under the archway.
Through the hall.
The scent of lemon oil, faint blood, and old spellfire filled my lungs.
Floof sat.
I didn't knock.
Misty Oaks, Kitchen Doorway
The gaslight flickered. The tile smelled like vinegar and copper.
And there she was.
Ami.
Bent over the counter. Scrubbing. Her movements were tired but sharp, like she was trying to erase something that didn't want to be forgotten.
I didn't say her name.
I didn't have to.
She stilled.
And said, flatly: "I thought you'd come at night."
Floof moved first.
He padded over, leaned against her leg.
And she broke.
Not loudly. Not all at once. But her knees hit the tile. Her hands sank into his fur. Her face crumpled—not with surprise. But with relief too long denied.
"I didn't mean to lose you," Ami whispered. "I just... lost myself first."
I stepped forward. Quietly.
I knelt beside her.
And in that kitchen—haunted by ghosts of quiet violence—we sat together. Me. Her. The dog who saved us both. No forgiveness. No ceremony.
Just breath.
Just presence.
Just something like the start of healing.
Misty Oaks, Kitchen – Midnight Stillness
Floof dozed between us, snoring softly.
Ami hadn't said another word.
Neither had I.
But something in the quiet began to bend. Not break—bend.
Like reality had inhaled too deep and was holding it in.
My fingers curled around the hem of my tunic. I felt the warmth of Floof's side under my hand, the cool tile beneath my legs, the scent of vinegar and blood.
But everything was… fading.
The world around me was becoming too much. Too clear. Too sharp.
And then—
I blinked.
Out of instinct, not function.
And when I opened my eyes—
The kitchen was gone.
The Cavern of Echoes – Deep Below Breath
Stone.
Fire.
My bare feet burned against it.
The air pulsed — a rhythm I didn't recognize but felt bone-deep.
It smelled like ozone and old dirt. Like blood that had been scrubbed away but not forgotten.
I was standing in a massive underground chamber.
A brazier hissed from the far wall, firelight licking the stones like a hungry tongue. I turned—stumbled—but found my balance.
This place wasn't real.
But it was true.
The shadows deepened.
And out of them—she stepped.
She wasn't tall, but she felt tall.
She didn't move, but the room adjusted around her. Like it wanted to accommodate her power, or feared it wouldn't be enough.
Her robes were black as river stone, catching light like polished memory. Her hood fell back.
And I saw her face.
Unfairly sculpted. Striking. Unreadable.
Her voice didn't come from her lips—it came from everything.
"Pecola Ennui," it said.
"You have inherited a legacy far greater than you comprehend."
I swallowed.
Hard.
"Cool," I said, voice rough. "Any chance it comes with dental?"
No laugh. Just amusement, curling at the edges of her mouth like a secret she didn't mind letting slip.
She stepped closer.
"I am Lyra. I lead what remains of the Order."
My stomach knotted.
"The Order," I echoed. "Right. You're the lobotomy squad. How could I forget."
The brazier popped.
So did something inside my chest.
Memories—not gentle ones—rushed back in. The way light had cut through me. The way Ami had stood still. The way I'd lost time, and self, and voice.
Lyra watched me closely.
"You were a storm. Uncontained. Dangerous. Your mother gave you to us… to preserve you."
I laughed. A sharp, humorless thing.
"Like jam in a jar."
"Exactly."
Gods. She even agreed.
"You are the conduit," Lyra said. "You exist between realms. Your body houses the dormant current. Your mother delayed it—barely."
"And now?" I whispered.
"Now the current wakes. And you must choose how it flows."
The brazier dimmed.
Visions flickered in its smoke—flickers of flame. Trees collapsing. Screaming Breaths.
I saw Antic—his coat torn, face bloody, eyes burning with fury.
I saw Grin—his hands wild with inked runes, teeth bared.
Dolly, spinning like a storm. Elara with her palms pressed to the ground, channeling light so bright it nearly shattered me.
And then—Ami.
Her body slumped.
Blood smeared across her temple.
Dragging a boy—Arnold?—through ash and bramble.
I reached for the fire.
It vanished.
"You did this!" I shouted. "You let this happen!"
Lyra didn't blink.
"Power," she said calmly, "does not wait for you to feel ready. The forest burns because no one made the hard choice."
I wanted to kill her.
I also wanted to scream.
But all I did was run.
🌲 Perennial Forest, Fireline Ridge
I crashed through the veil of the vision like a stone through ice.
Dirt met me hard.
Wet leaves. Glowing spores. Smoke—
And—
"Floof!"
He whimpered.
Curled in a shallow nest of moss and ash, fur matted with soot, his tail barely wagging.
I dropped to my knees.
Gathered him up.
Held him like the last story left in the world.
"I thought they took you," I whispered. "I thought they took everything."
He licked my jaw with the last of his strength.
We stayed there a long time.
No words. No plan.
Just me, a blind girl in blood-slicked linens, and a dog who remembered what I used to be.
But as the trees around us crackled with flame, and the wind sang with grief—
I lifted my chin.
The forest would not fall.
I would burn first.