Greenwood appeared before noon.
At first, it seemed like nothing more than a dark line along the horizon.
Then the road descended from the hills, and the forest rose before them.
Ayan had traveled through many forests since beginning his journey, but Greenwood was different.
The trees were enormous.
Ancient trunks wider than houses rose toward a canopy so dense that sunlight struggled to reach the ground. Thick roots twisted through the earth like sleeping serpents, while curtains of moss hung from branches far above.
The moment the wagon crossed beneath the first trees, the world changed.
Birdsong became distant.
The wind weakened.
Even the sound of the wagon wheels seemed softer beneath the thick carpet of fallen leaves.
Maren looked upward.
"I don't like how quiet it is."
Doctor Rowan smiled.
"Forests aren't quiet."
She glanced at him.
"This one is."
"No."
The old physician pointed toward the trees.
"You're simply listening for human sounds."
Ayan remained still.
Slowly...
He began noticing them.
Leaves rustling.
Water trickling somewhere beyond the road.
Woodpeckers tapping distant trunks.
The faint movement of something small through the undergrowth.
Greenwood wasn't silent.
It simply spoke differently.
...
The road narrowed as they continued.
According to the tavern keeper, Haven lay almost two days inside the forest.
There were no large roads leading there.
Only an old trade path marked by wooden posts.
Most of those posts had become nearly invisible beneath moss.
Every few miles, one appeared beside the road.
Each carried the same symbol.
A tree surrounding a small house.
Haven.
They were going the right way.
Around midday, they encountered their first traveler.
An elderly man walked toward them carrying a basket filled with mushrooms.
Doctor Rowan stopped the wagon.
"Excuse me."
The man looked up.
"Looking for Haven?"
Maren blinked.
"How did you know?"
The old man laughed.
"Everyone on this road is either looking for Haven..."
"...or leaving it."
Ayan stepped down.
"We're searching for someone."
He removed the charcoal drawing of Isolde.
The man's expression changed immediately.
"You know her?"
Ayan asked.
The mushroom gatherer studied the drawing.
"I know that face."
"When did you see her?"
"Months ago."
Ayan's heart quickened.
"Was she heading toward Haven?"
The old man nodded.
"She stayed at my cabin one night."
"What happened?"
The mushroom gatherer laughed.
"She apologized for not remembering my name every fifteen minutes."
Doctor Rowan's eyebrows rose.
"Every fifteen minutes?"
The old man's smile slowly faded.
"Her condition had worsened."
Ayan felt cold.
Until now, everything they had heard suggested Isolde lost her memories after sleeping.
But if she had begun forgetting within minutes...
Something had changed.
"Did she know where she was going?"
"Yes."
The man nodded.
"That was the strange part."
"She couldn't remember my name."
"Couldn't remember eating."
"Couldn't remember how long she'd been walking."
"But..."
He tapped the drawing.
"...she never forgot Haven."
Maren frowned.
"How?"
"Her wrist."
The old man answered.
"She had written something there."
Ayan already knew.
"Go to Haven."
The mushroom gatherer nodded.
"Exactly."
...
They continued deeper into Greenwood.
Ayan couldn't stop thinking about what they had learned.
Her memories were disappearing faster.
Perhaps soon...
Even the notebook wouldn't be enough.
What happened if she forgot to read it?
What happened if she forgot why it mattered?
What happened if...
She forgot the meaning of the name Isolde?
The Bridge pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
But the silver notebook didn't appear.
No answer.
Only another question.
...
By late afternoon, they found an abandoned campsite beside the road.
The ashes were old.
Several weeks at least.
A wooden cup lay beside the remains of the fire.
Ayan almost ignored it.
Then Maren noticed something carved into the nearby tree.
"Ayan."
He turned.
Four words had been scratched into the bark.
**MY NAME IS ISOLDE.**
Below them...
Another sentence.
**I AM GOING TO HAVEN.**
And beneath that...
**DO NOT TURN BACK.**
The letters had been carved deeply.
Desperately.
Ayan touched the grooves.
Someone had returned to this place more than once.
There were other carvings.
Smaller.
Less steady.
**READ YOUR BOOK.**
Another.
**YOU ARE SAFE.**
Another.
**DON'T BE AFRAID.**
Maren covered her mouth.
"She wrote these for herself."
Doctor Rowan stepped closer.
His expression had become deeply troubled.
"Her notebook wasn't enough anymore."
Ayan looked around.
Then he saw another message on the opposite side of the tree.
Only one sentence.
Unlike the others...
This one had been carved carefully.
Slowly.
**IF YOU FORGET WHY YOU ARE WALKING, WALK ANYWAY.**
Ayan closed his eyes.
Seventeen years.
Every morning...
She had rebuilt herself.
Now even those mornings were disappearing.
Minutes.
Perhaps hours.
Fragments.
Yet somehow...
She had continued.
...
They camped there that night.
No one spoke much.
The fire crackled softly beneath the towering trees.
Doctor Rowan studied Isolde's old journal again.
Maren prepared supper.
Ayan sat beside the carved tree.
He wondered how frightened Isolde had been when she woke beside this same road.
Had she looked around and recognized nothing?
Had she discovered words carved by hands she didn't remember controlling?
Had she trusted them?
That thought disturbed him most.
Every message required trust.
Not trust in another person.
Trust in herself.
A self she could no longer remember.
The silver notebook finally appeared.
Its pages opened.
Ayan waited.
One sentence formed.
**There may come a day when you cannot remember the person who made the promise.**
The silver ink paused.
Then continued.
**Keep the promise anyway.**
Ayan stared at the words.
The notebook closed.
...
The next morning, they continued.
Around midday...
The forest changed.
Small ribbons appeared tied around branches.
Blue.
White.
Yellow.
Some old.
Some new.
Doctor Rowan stopped the wagon beside one.
"Markers."
"For Haven?"
Ayan asked.
"No."
A voice answered from above.
Everyone froze.
A young woman sat on a thick branch nearly twenty feet above the road.
She wore simple green clothing and carried a short bow across her back.
Ayan hadn't noticed her at all.
She jumped down gracefully.
The woman studied them.
"Those ribbons aren't for travelers."
She pointed toward the nearest one.
"They're for people who forget the road."
Ayan's heart stopped for half a beat.
He removed Isolde's drawing.
"We're looking for this woman."
The stranger looked at it.
Her expression softened immediately.
"You finally came."
Ayan stared at her.
"You know us?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"But she said someone would."
"Where is she?"
The woman looked deeper into the forest.
"Haven."
Ayan felt relief.
She had made it.
After seventeen years...
After countless forgotten mornings...
After carving instructions into trees...
Isolde had reached Haven.
"Can you take us to her?"
The woman hesitated.
That hesitation immediately destroyed Ayan's relief.
Doctor Rowan noticed too.
"What happened?"
The forest woman lowered her eyes.
"She's alive."
Ayan exhaled.
"But..."
The woman continued quietly.
"...she doesn't remember the name Isolde anymore."
Silence.
Maren stared at her.
"Then what does she remember?"
The woman looked toward the colored ribbons swaying gently among the trees.
"Almost nothing."
Her voice softened.
"Sometimes..."
"...only a few minutes."
Ayan's hand tightened around the drawing.
"Then how do you care for her?"
The woman smiled sadly.
"We don't ask her to remember us."
"We remember her."
Those words struck Ayan deeply.
The woman turned.
"Haven isn't far."
"Follow me."
They left the wagon beneath Doctor Rowan's care and continued along a narrow forest trail.
More ribbons appeared.
Hundreds of them.
Every turn.
Every crossing.
Every place where someone might become lost.
Someone had transformed the forest itself into a guide.
Eventually...
Light appeared between the trees.
The forest opened.
A small village rested within an enormous clearing.
Wooden houses surrounded a clear lake.
Gardens filled the spaces between them.
Children played beside the water.
People worked beneath the afternoon sun.
Haven.
Ayan stopped.
Near the center of the village stood an enormous ancient tree.
And beneath it...
A woman sat alone.
Her hair was mostly silver now.
A journal rested upon her lap.
She looked toward the approaching strangers.
No recognition appeared in her eyes.
Only curiosity.
Then...
She smiled.
Warmly.
Naturally.
Exactly as Elira had described seventeen years ago.
"Hello."
The woman closed the journal.
"I'm sorry..."
She looked slightly embarrassed.
"...I seem to have forgotten your names."
Ayan couldn't speak.
He had never met her.
She couldn't possibly have forgotten him.
Yet the apology came automatically.
Because somewhere deeper than memory...
Isolde still cared about forgetting someone.
Ayan slowly approached.
"My name is Ayan."
The woman repeated it carefully.
"Ayan."
She smiled.
"That's a good name."
Then she looked at him with gentle curiosity.
"And..."
She touched her own chest.
"...do you happen to know mine?"
The Bridge beneath Ayan's skin pulsed.
Not softly.
Not warmly.
It thundered.
And for the first time since this journey began...
Ayan stood face-to-face with the woman who had forgotten herself.