The setting sun painted the forest path in gold and shadow as they made their way back to the ruins. This time, Ardyn carried the bulk of their purchases—a sack of grain slung over one shoulder, a bundle of tools strapped to his back, and a smaller pouch of delicate items clutched carefully in his arms. His muscles burned with the effort, but he gritted his teeth and kept pace.
Ethan walked beside him, smirking every time Ardyn adjusted his grip. "Need help, goldhair?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.
Ardyn shot him a glare. "I'm fine."
"Sure," Ethan said, eyeing the way the grain sack was already slipping. "Wouldn't want you to break a nail."
Ardyn huffed and shifted the weight again, refusing to give him the satisfaction of asking for help.
Seres walked ahead, her own load light—just a small satchel of herbs and coin. She glanced back occasionally, her pale eyes assessing, but never intervened. Whether she was testing his endurance or simply letting him prove himself, Ardyn wasn't sure. Either way, he wasn't about to complain.
Ethan, however, had no such reservations. "You know," he mused, "if you trip, at least your hair will cushion the fall."
"Shut up."
"It's practically a safety feature. Like a golden pillow."
Ardyn rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the twitch of his lips. "You're just jealous."
Ethan snorted. "Of what? Looking like I fell into a dye vat?"
"Yes."
Ethan shoved him lightly, nearly sending the grain sack tumbling. Ardyn cursed and scrambled to right it, which only made Ethan laugh harder.
Homecoming
By the time they reached the ruins, Ardyn's arms were trembling, and even Ethan had stopped teasing—mostly because he was too busy hauling open the creaking door for him.
The children's voices spilled out before they even crossed the threshold.
"We're back!" Mia's face lit up as she bounded over, her dark eyes scanning the bundles eagerly. Nico, not far behind, nearly knocked Ardyn over in his haste to see what they'd brought.
Seres took charge, unpacking the purchases with quiet efficiency.
For Mia—new shoes, sturdy leather with thick soles to replace her worn-out pair. She gasped, clutching them to her chest like treasure.
For Ethan—a proper whetstone and a set of reinforced fishing hooks. He examined them with a critical eye, but the slight upturn of his mouth betrayed his satisfaction.
For Kai—charcoal sticks and sheets of parchment, carefully wrapped to keep them from smudging. He snatched them up immediately, already plotting his next masterpiece.
For Luna—a small wooden bird, its wings delicately carved to fold inward. She turned it over in her hands, her expression unreadable, but the way her fingers traced the grooves spoke volumes.
And for Nico—a toy sword, sanded smooth and painted with faint scratches to mimic battle marks. He brandished it with a whoop, immediately challenging Ethan to a duel.
Ardyn sank onto a bench, rubbing his sore shoulders as he watched the chaos unfold. Mia twirled in her new shoes, Kai was already sketching something absurd, and Nico was busy "slaying" an imaginary beast in the corner.
Seres caught his eye and gave a small, rare nod.
No words were needed.
The weight had been worth it.
The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Ardyn noticed it.
He was outside the ruins, helping Mia gather the last of the firewood before nightfall. The air was cool against his skin, the forest alive with the chirping of evening insects and the distant call of night birds. Mia hummed softly as she worked, her small hands deftly snapping dry branches into manageable lengths. Ardyn moved slower, his ribs still tender, but he had insisted on helping—partly to prove he could, partly because he liked the quiet rhythm of the task.
As he straightened with an armful of kindling, his gaze drifted upward—and froze.
Three pale orbs hung in the twilight sky.
The largest dominated the center, its surface marred by familiar dark patches—craters and plains that tugged at some buried memory. But flanking it on either side were two smaller moons, perfect mirror images, their silver glow casting faint, ghostly light over the treetops.
A cold weight settled in Ardyn's gut.
That's not right.
The thought came unbidden, sharp as a knife between the ribs. He didn't remember the sky. He didn't remember anything, not truly—but the sight of those three moons sent a jolt of wrongness through him, as if his bones knew something his mind couldn't grasp.
There should only be one.
He didn't know how he knew that. But he did.
"Ardyn?"
Seres' voice cut through the static in his head.He hadn't heard her approach. She stood a few feet away, her own arms filled with wood, her white hair seeming to glow in the strange, multiplied moonlight. Her pale eyes were fixed on him, sharp with concern.
He couldn't tear his gaze from the sky. He simply pointed upward, his hand trembling slightly.
Seres followed his gesture, her expression shifting from curiosity to quiet observation. She looked at the triple moons, then back at his face, studying the undisguised dread she found there.
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. How could he explain a feeling? How could he describe the hollow, vertiginous terror of looking at a sky that felt false? The words didn't exist, not in any language he knew. He shook his head, finally forcing his eyes away from the heavens to meet her questioning stare. He shook his head again, more firmly this time, a silent plea for her to understand that he couldn't explain, that the wrongness was locked deep inside him where words couldn't reach.
Seres didn't press him. She didn't sigh or show frustration. Instead, she knelt, setting her own wood down carefully, and began to gather the kindling he had dropped. After a moment's hesitation, he knelt beside her, his movements stiff.
"S'valla," she said gently, placing the last stick in his now-empty arms. The word meant it's okay. She'd taught it to him just days before. She held his gaze for a long moment, her unusual eyes seeming to see straight through his confusion and fear. "Veyen. Miran." Home. Let's go.
The walk back to the ruins was silent. The three moons cast overlapping shadows that danced at the edge of his vision, a constant, unsettling reminder. Mia, sensing the shift in mood, had stopped humming and walked close to Seres, occasionally glancing back at Ardyn with a worried frown.
The warmth of the interior felt like a shield against the eerie night. The main room was lit by a low fire, throwing dancing shadows on the cracked walls. Nico was enthusiastically stirring a large pot of vegetable stew that hung over the flames, while Kai attempted to carve a piece of firewood into what might become a duck, or possibly a very lumpy potato. Luna was setting out worn wooden bowls in a neat row.
The normalcy of the scene was a balm. The familiar smell of onions, thyme, and root vegetables simmering in broth grounded him. Seres nudged him toward the hearth, taking the kindling from him and adding a few pieces to the fire.
Dinner was a quiet affair. The usual boisterous energy was tempered, the children picking up on the unusual tension. Nico, for once, didn't tell a wild story. Ethan ate quickly, his eyes occasionally flicking toward Ardyn before darting away. Mia kept offering him the choicest bits of carrot from her bowl.
Ardyn ate mechanically, the stew tasting like ash in his mouth. His mind was still outside, trapped under that triple moon. Every laugh from Nico, every soft word from Mia, felt distant, muffled, like he was hearing them from the bottom of a deep well. He was here, but he wasn't. Part of him was still staring at that impossible sky, screaming silently.
After the meal, the nightly chores began. Ethan and Nico took the bowls to the rain barrel to scrub. Mia swept the hard-packed earth floor with a bundle of twigs. Luna wiped down the wooden counter. Kai, having given up on his carving, stacked the remaining firewood neatly against the wall. Ardyn moved to help, his actions rote, his body operating on memory alone while his thoughts churned.
Seres watched it all from her usual spot, mending a tear in Nico's tunic. Her gaze was thoughtful, lingering on Ardyn as he mechanically wiped a damp cloth over the eating bench. She didn't try to engage him again, seeming to understand that he needed the quiet, the mindless work to try and reassemble the pieces of his composure.
One by one, the children retired to their bedrolls. Yawns were stifled, goodnights were murmured. Mia gave Ardyn's hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before she curled up next to Luna. Nico was snoring within minutes, his new toy sword clutched to his chest. Ethan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling for a long time before his breathing finally evened out.
Soon, the only sounds were the crackle of the dying fire and the soft, rhythmic breathing of sleeping children.
Ardyn remained sitting on a low stool by the hearth, the warmth on his skin doing nothing to melt the cold knot of anxiety in his chest. He couldn't bring himself to lie down. He knew the moment he closed his eyes, he would see them—three pale discs against a black velvet sky, a celestial configuration that felt like a lie.
He was a stranger here. He had always known that. But tonight, the feeling was different. It was deeper, more profound. It wasn't just that he didn't know the people or the customs; it was that he didn't know the very sky above him. The world itself was alien. The one constant he had unconsciously clung to—the sun by day, the moon by night—had fractured, revealing a truth he was terrified to learn.
He was not just far from home. He was in a world that was not his own.The silence in the ruins was a heavy blanket, thick with the soft sounds of sleep. Ardyn sat on the low stool for what felt like an eternity, the image of the three moons burned onto the back of his eyelids. The warmth of the hearth had faded to embers, and a deep chill had settled in its place, one that had little to do with the temperature.
The weight of the day—the strange market, the staring eyes, the impossible sky—felt like a physical pressure on Ardyn's chest. The soft, even breathing of the sleeping children only amplified his own isolation. He'd thought Seres was asleep, her form still in the dimness. Needing air, needing to escape the feeling of the walls closing in, he slipped outside, the rough-hewn door groaning softly behind him.
The three moons hung even higher now, their cold, triple light bleaching the color from the world. He leaned against the cool stone of the ruins, tilting his head back to stare at the celestial aberration. In the hectic rhythm of survival, between the pain of his injuries and the distracting energy of the children, he'd neglected to truly look at this world. He'd been too focused on the immediate—on learning words, on healing, on not being a burden. Now, with that stark, triple light on his face, the scale of his displacement crashed down on him. This wasn't just a new country. This was a new everything.
A soft footfall on the moss behind him made him start. He turned to find Seres standing there, a worn blanket draped over her shoulders. Her hair seemed to glow in the lunar light, and her expression was soft with a concern he hadn't seen before. He'd been so sure she was asleep.
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, her voice blending with the night insects.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. How could he possibly explain that the very fabric of reality felt wrong? That the sky itself was a constant, silent reminder that he was irrevocably lost? The words were a tangled mess in his throat, caught between two languages, neither sufficient.
Seres didn't press. She simply came to stand beside him, following his gaze upward. She was close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her, a stark contrast to the cool night air.
"The Triad is bright tonight," she said finally, her tone matter-of-fact, as if commenting on the weather.
Ardyn swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "The Triad?" The unfamiliar word felt heavy on his tongue.
"The Three Sisters," she clarified softly, as if that explained everything. When he just stared, utterly bewildered, she tilted her head, studying his face in the silvery light. A faint line appeared between her brows. "You don't… know them?"
He could only shake his head, the motion feeling helpless.
Seres was silent for a long moment, the only sound the rustle of leaves in a gentle night breeze. Then, slowly, she raised a hand, pointing a slender finger toward the largest, dominant moon. "Velsha." Her finger moved to the right, to the smaller, perfect mirror. "Ithea." Then to the left, to its twin. "And Lirra."
The names washed over him, beautiful and utterly alien. They meant nothing. No spark of recognition, no buried memory stirred. They were just sounds for a truth that felt fundamentally incorrect.
Seeing his continued distress, Seres turned to fully face him. Her pale eyes were serious. "S'valla, Ardyn," she said, the words gentle but firm. It's okay. She then placed a hand flat over her own heart, then gestured to the ruins, to the sleeping children within, and finally to him. "Veyen isha." Home is here.
She paused, searching for the words in his language, the ones she'd been practicing in stolen moments. "Before… gone," she said, her speech slow and deliberate. "Now… here." She touched his chest, just over his heart. "Make new… memory. With us."
The simple words, haltingly spoken, did what complex explanations could not. They didn't erase the dread, the profound sense of wrongness he felt under the three moons. But they laid something alongside it—a warmth, an anchor. The sky above was strange and terrifying, but the ground beneath his feet was solid. The people behind him were real.
He wasn't just a lost soul under an alien sky. He was Ardyn, in a place called veyen, with a girl named Seres who knew the names of the moons and had brought him in from the snow. The memories before were gone, perhaps forever. But she was right. He could make new ones.
He didn't speak. He just gave a single, slow nod, his eyes finally leaving the terrifying Triad to meet her calm, steady gaze. The cold knot in his chest didn't vanish, but it loosened, just enough to let him breathe.
She placed a hand on his arm, her touch light but firm. "Come inside," she said softly, her breath a faint mist in the cool air. "The night will steal your warmth." She gently guided him back toward the door.