The forest had a way of swallowing sound.
Not completely just enough that everything felt softer. The wind through the leaves came out like a hush instead of a whisper. Footsteps sank into dirt and moss instead of echoing. Even voices, when raised, never seemed to travel very far.
It made their house feel… separate.
A small wooden structure tucked between uneven trees, with a crooked fence that had long since given up pretending to keep anything out. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, thin and inconsistent.
Inside, it was louder.
"Elliot, don't touch that."
"I'm not!"
"You are touching it."
"I'm just looking at it!"
"You are holding it."
A pause.
"…I'm holding it."
Elizabeth stood with her arms crossed, watching him with a look that was far too judgmental for someone his exact age.
Elliot, crouched near the low table, held up the small object in his hands a dull, metallic shard etched with faint markings that shimmered if you looked at it too long.
"It's just a rock," he said.
"It's not a rock," Elizabeth replied immediately. "It's one of Mom's relic things."
"It doesn't even do anything."
"That's because you don't know how to use it."
"I could figure it out."
"No, you couldn't."
Elliot frowned at that, turning the shard over in his hands like it might suddenly prove her wrong.
"I could," he insisted.
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, studying him.
Then, very calmly:
"If you drop it, it might explode."
Elliot froze.
"…Really?"
"I don't know," she said. "But it might."
He slowly placed it back on the table.
Elizabeth nodded once, satisfied, then turned away like the matter had been resolved exactly as intended.
From the other side of the room, their mother sighed.
"I heard that," she said, not even looking up from the spread of objects laid out before her. "And no, it won't explode."
Elliot immediately perked up again. "See?"
Elizabeth didn't even turn back. "It could have."
"It couldn't."
"It might have."
"It didn't!"
"That's because I stopped you."
"You didn't...!"
"Both of you," their mother cut in, finally glancing over.
The twins went quiet.
She was seated at a larger table, surrounded by items that looked like they didn't belong together old metal fragments, glass vials, scraps of parchment, a broken pendant with a faint glow that pulsed every few seconds. Her hands moved carefully between them, adjusting, observing, sometimes pausing mid-motion like she was listening to something no one else could hear.
"You're not supposed to touch anything on this table," she said. "Especially that one."
Elliot leaned forward slightly. "Why?"
"Because it reacts poorly to people who don't know what they're doing."
Elizabeth smirked faintly. "So just him, then."
Elliot shot her a look. "Hey."
Their mother hid a small smile before returning to her work.
Across the room, a different sound cut through the quiet pages turning, slower, heavier.
Their father sat near the window, where the light was best, a thick notebook resting on his lap. Several others were stacked beside him, some filled, some half-written, all marked with notes and diagrams that meant very little to anyone else in the room.
He didn't look up.
"Elliot," he said.
Elliot stiffened slightly.
"…Yeah?"
"Come here."
Elizabeth immediately leaned against the wall, clearly interested.
Elliot walked over, slower than necessary, and stopped just in front of him.
Their father turned a page, then tapped a section with his finger.
"Read this."
Elliot looked down.
There were symbols. Lines. Words he recognized… but didn't really understand when they were put together like that.
He squinted.
"…It's about… mana?"
"That's the title," his father replied flatly. "Keep going."
Elliot tried.
"…Mana… moves… uh…"
The silence stretched.
Elizabeth covered her mouth slightly, very clearly not trying hard enough to hide it.
Elliot glanced up. "I know this one."
"Then say it."
"…It's… the thing mages use?"
A pause.
Their father exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair.
"Yes," he said. "That is… technically correct."
Elliot brightened a little.
"I told you."
"But that's not the point."
The brightness dimmed.
Their father tapped the page again, this time more firmly.
"It's not enough to know what something is. You need to understand how it works. Why it works. What happens when it doesn't."
Elliot looked back down at the page.
The symbols didn't change.
They still didn't make sense.
"…It's complicated," he muttered.
"It's basic," his father replied.
Elizabeth stepped closer now, peeking over Elliot's shoulder.
"Oh," she said after a second. "It's talking about flow direction."
Their father glanced at her.
"Explain."
"It's like water," she said. "If you block it, it pushes somewhere else. If you guide it, it goes where you want."
A small pause.
Then their father nodded once.
"Good."
Elliot frowned.
"…That's what I meant."
"It's not," Elizabeth said.
"It is."
"It's not."
"It is."
"It's not."
Their father closed the notebook.
"That's enough."
The argument died immediately.
Elliot stepped back, scratching the back of his head, not entirely sure what he did wrong just that something about it didn't feel good.
Their father looked at him for a moment longer than usual.
Then, quieter:
"You need to try harder."
Elliot nodded.
"Yeah."
But it wasn't convincing.
Not even to himself.
Outside, something crashed.
Both twins turned instantly.
Elizabeth's eyes lit up first.
Elliot followed right after.
They didn't say anything.
They didn't need to.
By the time their mother looked up again
..they were already gone.
"...Oh my god" Their mother could only let out a exasperated expression but also concern.
The forest swallowed them just as easily as it always did.
Branches snapped under careless steps. Dirt scattered as they ran too fast for any real purpose.
"What do you think it was?" Elliot asked.
"Does it matter?" Elizabeth replied.
"…No."
"Exactly."
She veered off slightly, already adjusting direction based on nothing Elliot could see.
He followed anyway.
He always did.
Somewhere behind them, their mother called their names.
Their father didn't.
The sound faded quickly.
The forest closed in again.
And just like that
they were on their own.
They were not supposed to be near the road.
That was the rule.
It had been said more than once clearly, firmly, and with enough emphasis that even Elliot understood it was important.
Which, of course, meant Elizabeth had already decided it was worth breaking.
"The carts pass here," she said, crouched low behind a cluster of bushes, peering through the gaps like she was studying prey.
Elliot crouched beside her, though with significantly less grace.
"…So?"
"So," she continued, patient in the way she only was when explaining something she found obvious, "if carts pass here, that means they go somewhere."
"…Yeah?"
"Somewhere not here."
Elliot blinked.
"…Oh."
Elizabeth glanced at him briefly.
"That took you a while."
"I got it," he muttered.
"Eventually."
They stayed there a moment longer, watching.
The road wasn't particularly busy, but every so often, a cart would pass wooden wheels grinding against packed dirt, carrying crates, sacks, sometimes covered goods that hinted at things Elliot couldn't quite name.
Each time, Elizabeth's eyes followed.
Tracking.
Thinking.
"…Do you think we've been outside the forest before?" Elliot asked suddenly.
"No."
"…What if there's more stuff out there?"
"There is."
"How do you know?"
She gave him a look.
"Because people don't build roads for no reason."
"…Oh."
Silence again.
Then.
"We should go," she said.
"What?"
"To the capital."
Elliot stared at her.
"…We can't just go to the capital."
"Why not?"
"Because....because..."
He paused.
Actually thinking.
"…Because we're not allowed?"
Elizabeth tilted her head.
"That's not a real reason."
"It is."
"It's a rule."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not."
Elliot frowned, struggling to explain something he felt but couldn't properly say.
"They said not to," he repeated.
Elizabeth looked back at the road.
Then, simply:
"Then we'll go with them."
Elliot blinked.
"…What?"
They didn't go that day.
Or the next.
Or even the day after that.
But the idea didn't go away.
If anything, it grew.
Elizabeth started watching more closely.
Listening when their parents spoke.
Not interrupting just paying attention.
Elliot noticed it, vaguely, but didn't question it.
He never really did.
Then one morning.
"You're coming with us."
Both twins looked up at the same time.
Their mother stood by the doorway, arms folded, expression already halfway between resigned and cautious.
"The capital?" Elizabeth asked immediately.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Work," their father answered from behind her. "Your mother has business. I have… things to check."
Elizabeth's eyes sharpened slightly.
Elliot just grinned.
"We're going?"
"You're coming," their mother corrected. "Which is not the same thing."
That didn't change how it felt.
The forest didn't feel as big when you were leaving it.
The trees thinned slowly at first, then all at once.
The quiet followed them for a while clinging to the edges of sound, before finally giving up to something louder.
Wheels.
Voices.
Movement.
Elliot had seen people before.
Just not this many.
By the time the capital came into view, he had already stopped trying to keep track of everything.
Stone walls rose ahead of them, tall and solid in a way the forest never was. Guards stood at the entrance, armor catching light in sharp flashes. Beyond them, buildings stretched upward stacked, layered, too many to count.
"…It's big," Elliot said.
"It's inefficient," Elizabeth replied.
He looked at her.
"…What?"
"Too many people in one place," she said. "Too many blind spots."
"You're not even inside yet."
"I don't need to be."
Their parents didn't comment.
They were already moving.
Inside, everything changed.
The air felt different thicker, filled with overlapping sounds that didn't fade the way they did in the forest. Conversations blended together. Metal clanged somewhere in the distance. Someone shouted. Someone laughed.
Elliot turned his head constantly, trying to take everything in at once.
Shops lined the streets.
Weapons displayed openly swords, spears, polished and clean. Strange objects sat behind glass cases, glowing faintly. Cloaked figures passed by, some with staffs, others with armor that looked too heavy to move in.
"…Whoa," he breathed.
Elizabeth didn't react the same way.
Her gaze moved differently.
Not wide.
Focused.
Measuring.
Counting.
"Stay close," their mother said, not looking back.
"We are," Elliot answered automatically.
They weren't.
Not really.
Because staying close required attention.
And attention… slipped.
A merchant called out loudly, drawing Elliot's eyes for just a second.
A group of armored knights passed by, their presence shifting the flow of the crowd.
Someone bumped into someone else.
Movement stacked on movement.
And somewhere in that.
Elizabeth stepped sideways.
Not far.
Just enough.
Elliot followed immediately.
Of course he did.
He always did.
Their parents kept walking.
They didn't notice.
Not yet.
The crowd closed behind them.
Sound swallowed the space where they had been.
And just like that...
the distance was made.
Elliot looked around.
"…Uh."
Elizabeth didn't.
She was already looking somewhere else.
Ahead.
At something specific.
Her lips curved slightly.
"Elliot," she said.
"Yeah?"
"I have an idea."
He didn't hesitate.
"Okay."
He didn't even ask what it was.
That came later.
It always did.
Elizabeth didn't explain immediately.
She never did.
Instead, she moved.
Not fast enough to draw attention, just purposeful enough that Elliot had to keep up or lose her in the crowd again.
They slipped between people, past stalls and voices and the constant noise of the capital, until the space opened slightly into a row of shops.
Weapons.
Even Elliot could tell that much.
Blades lined the walls, some polished to a mirror shine, others duller but heavier, thicker. Spears rested in bundles. Shields leaned against racks. The faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air.
"…Oh," Elliot said under his breath.
Elizabeth didn't answer.
She had already stopped.
Not directly in front of the shop but off to the side, where she could see without being seen easily.
Her eyes moved.
Left.
Right.
Inside.
Outside.
"…What are you looking at?" Elliot asked.
"The door," she said.
"…It's a door."
"And?"
"And… it opens?"
Elizabeth exhaled quietly.
Then she pointed subtle, quick.
"Look again."
Elliot followed her gesture.
The shopkeeper stood inside, arguing with someone over a blade, his back half-turned. Another customer browsed near the far wall. Near the entrance, a rack of lower quality swords stood unattended.
A guard passed by outside.
Didn't stop.
Didn't look.
"…Oh," Elliot said again.
This time, it meant something different.
Elizabeth nodded once.
"Blind spot," she said.
"…You want to take one?"
"I want to take two."
Elliot blinked.
"…Two?"
"One for you. One for me."
"…Why?"
She looked at him like the answer was obvious.
"To use them."
"That makes sense."
It did.
To him, at least.
Elizabeth leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice not out of fear, but precision.
"When that guard passes again, the shopkeeper will turn back. He already did it twice."
"…You've been watching that?"
"Yes."
"…For how long?"
She didn't answer.
Instead:
"You go in first."
"Why me?"
"Because you look less suspicious."
Elliot frowned.
"I do?"
"Yes."
"…Okay."
That sounded right.
He didn't question it further.
Timing, as it turned out, mattered.
Elizabeth waited.
Still.
Watching the rhythm of movement like it was something she could feel instead of see.
Then.
"Now."
Elliot moved immediately.
No hesitation.
He stepped into the shop like he belonged there because, in his mind, he did. There was no reason he shouldn't.
He walked past the first rack, glancing at the swords with open curiosity, like any other kid might.
Behind him, the guard passed.
Inside, the shopkeeper turned slightly, distracted again.
Elizabeth slipped in right after.
Quieter.
Faster.
Elliot reached for one of the swords.
It was heavier than he expected.
He almost dropped it.
Almost.
"…Whoa," he whispered.
"Don't talk," Elizabeth muttered, already lifting another blade with far more control than she should've had.
Her eyes flicked once toward the shopkeeper.
Still distracted.
Still turned.
"Move," she said.
Elliot nodded.
They didn't run.
That would've drawn attention.
They walked.
Out the door.
Past the threshold.
One step.
Two.
Three...
And then they were outside again.
No one stopped them.
No one called out.
No one even noticed.
Elliot looked down at the sword in his hands.
"…We did it."
Elizabeth adjusted her grip on hers, testing the weight.
"Obviously."
"…That was easy."
"Because you didn't mess it up."
"That means I helped."
She gave him a brief glance.
"…A little."
That was enough.
He grinned.
They didn't stay.
Even Elliot knew that much.
Elizabeth led again, weaving through narrower streets now, away from the main road, away from the heavier foot traffic.
The noise dulled slightly.
The buildings thinned.
Stone gave way to patches of dirt and broken paths.
Eventually, the capital faded behind them not completely, but enough that it felt distant.
They reached a clearing.
Not part of the forest they knew—but similar enough.
Open space.
No people.
No eyes.
Elizabeth stopped.
"This works."
Elliot looked around.
"…For what?"
She turned to him.
And for the first time since they left the house.
she smiled properly.
"Practice."
Elliot looked down at the sword again.
Then back at her.
"…Oh."
That kind of practice.
He adjusted his grip, mimicking what he'd seen earlier in the shops, or maybe from passing knights...he wasn't sure.
It didn't matter.
Elizabeth stepped back, giving them space.
The air felt different now.
Quieter.
But not soft like the forest.
Something sharper.
More focused.
She raised her sword slightly.
Not perfectly.
But not carelessly either.
Elliot mirrored her.
Less precise.
More instinct.
They stood there for a second.
Facing each other.
Then Elizabeth tilted her head.
"Don't hold back," she said.
Elliot nodded.
"Okay."
There was no hesitation.
Not from him.
Not from her.
And that was the problem.
There was no hesitation between them.
No instinct to pull back.
No line that said this is too far.
Just two children, holding real weapons
...and treating it like a game.
Elizabeth moved first.
Not clumsy.
Not wild.
Clean.
Elliot barely had time to react before steel met steel with a sharp, jarring sound that echoed too loudly in the empty clearing.
He grinned.
"Again."
She didn't answer.
She stepped in again, faster this time.
Elliot raised his sword, slower than he thought he was, the weight unfamiliar in his hands. The impact rattled his arms, forced him back a step.
He laughed.
It was fun.
It was fun.
The way the metal rang, the way his body moved without thinking it felt new. Different from anything in the forest. Different from running, climbing, breaking things.
Elizabeth's eyes sharpened.
"Don't just block," she said.
"I am...!"
She cut him off.
With motion.
Another strike.
Closer.
Elliot twisted, barely catching it. The edge slid off his blade instead of meeting it cleanly, sending a shock through his grip.
"Like that," she said.
He nodded quickly.
"Yeah."
His heart was beating faster now.
Not from fear.
From excitement.
They circled.
Small steps.
Uneven ground.
The distance between them shrinking without either of them noticing.
Elizabeth adjusted her stance.
Then lunged.
Faster.
Too fast.
Elliot reacted on instinct, bringing his sword up.
...but not enough.
Not in time.
There was a moment,
brief, almost invisible.
Where everything felt like it paused.
Like the world held its breath.
Then...
impact.
Not the sharp clash of metal.
Something else.
Something wrong.
A sudden, burning pressure across his face...
followed by warmth.
Too much warmth.
Elliot stumbled back.
The sword slipped from his hands.
"...Huh?"
His vision blurred.
One eye refused to focus.
Something was running down the side of his face thick, hot, and wrong.
Elizabeth stood frozen.
Her sword still raised.
Her expression unchanged for a second too long.
"...Elliot?" she said.
He touched his face.
His hand came away wet.
Red.
"Oh..."
The ground tilted.
Or maybe he did.
His legs gave slightly, catching himself just enough to stay upright for another second.
Everything felt distant.
Muted.
Like the forest had swallowed the world again, but this time it wasn't soft.
It was empty.
"…That… hurt," he said faintly.
Elizabeth took a step forward.
Then stopped.
Something in her expression shifted.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Just… confusion.
Like something hadn't gone the way she expected.
Elliot blinked.
Slow.
Heavy.
The light felt too bright.
Too far away.
"…I'm…" he started.
His voice didn't finish.
Because something else cut in.
Not outside.
Inside.
A thought.
No.
A memory.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Wrong.
White walls.
A quiet room.
The constant, steady beeping of something that never stopped.
A screen glowing in the dark.
A voice.
"It's not a harem game."
Another voice smaller, weaker.
"…I'm eleven."
Hands holding a console.
A world on a screen.
A boy sitting beside a bed.
Staying.
Always staying.
Elliot's breath hitched.
No...
Not Elliot.
A girl.
Lying in a hospital bed.
Too small.
Too weak.
Looking at the same screen.
Hearing the same voice.
Feeling the same tightness in her chest.
The same fear...
"I don't want to stop playing."
The memory cracked open.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
All at once.
The clearing snapped back into place.
The forest.
The sky.
Elizabeth.
The sword still in her hand.
And the pain.
It surged back, louder now, sharper, impossible to ignore.
Elliot's knees gave out completely.
He hit the ground.
Hard.
Air left his lungs in a broken gasp.
"I..."
His voice trembled.
Not from the pain.
From something else.
Something deeper.
Something older.
"…I'm going to die again?"
The words came out small.
Fragile.
Terrified in a way he didn't understand,
but his body did.
His mind did.
His memories did.
The sky above him blurred.
Light stretching.
Breaking.
Fading at the edges.
Elizabeth's figure moved.
Closer now.
Finally.
Too late.
Elliot's fingers twitched against the dirt.
Gripping nothing.
Holding onto nothing.
The beeping sound echoed again,
louder this time.
Faster.
Then...
silence.
And everything went dark.