Darkness.
But not silence.

There was a pulse — faint, distant — like the echo of a heartbeat through stone.

Then pain.
A sudden, stabbing ache in my neck, my chest, deep in my lungs.

I gasped. Air hit like a wave. Cold stone under me. My back arched without thinking — not from pain exactly, but something in between. Like waking too fast from a dream you weren’t done with.

I reached up, my hand shaking.

No blood.
No wound.
Just skin — warm, whole.

I sat up, slowly this time.

Behind me, green light pulsed softly. Familiar. Rhythmic. The walls glowed the way I remembered — moss or crystal or something else, breathing faint light into the chamber. The air was damp and old, like it hadn’t moved in years.

The cave.

The cave.

Where it all began.

Only this time, I wasn’t confused or afraid.

This time, I remembered.

Nick.
The fire.
The sword at my throat.
The message, hanging in the air like a verdict.

I stood. My legs trembled but didn’t give out. Every part of me felt strange — like I was still waking up inside my own skin.

Outside, wind brushed against the cave mouth. A low sound. Almost a whisper.

I stepped out.

The forest rolled below, quiet and still beneath the early light. I took a breath and started down the hill.

The trees welcomed me with silence.

Their tall shadows swallowed the light as I moved, one careful step after another. I didn’t call for Nick. I just walked — past the hollow stump, past the patch of wild ferns, past the twisted roots that once tripped me up.

The forest looked the same.
But something about it felt… held back. Like it knew something I didn’t.

Then — a snap.
Quick. Sharp.

I stopped cold.

Not the wind. Not an animal. Something heavier.

I turned—fast. My heart thudded once, hard enough to hurt.

Nothing.
No one.

But my hands stayed curled into fists long after. Whatever had passed through here — it wasn’t just me. I could feel it, like the memory of a dream still stuck to your skin.

I turned back around—

And there he was.

Nick.

Same clothes. Same hat. Same sharp green eyes.

Except when he looked at me… nothing.

No flicker of surprise.
No recognition.
Just a quiet caution, like someone who’s seen too much to trust too easily.
Like staring into a mirror that didn’t reflect you back.

“…Hello?” he said. “You okay?”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Nick.

He was alive.

I opened my mouth — no words came. I wanted to say Nick, it’s me. 

I wanted to say you told me to run. I wanted to say you died, or maybe I did. 

Instead, I swallowed and managed, “I’m… I’m fine.” 

He narrowed his eyes slightly, not unkindly, just wary. “You sure? Not many folk come through this part of the forest. Certainly not from that cave.” 

My heart skipped. So he remembers the cave exists.
But not me. Not what happened. Not us.
I nodded, slowly. “Just… lost, I guess.” 

Nick tilted his head. “Happens more than you’d think.” 

He hesitated, then stuck out a paw. “Name’s Nick.” 

I looked at his outstretched hand. It was the same. Everything was the same.
Except the part that mattered. 

I took it anyway. “…Sebastian.” 

He gave a small nod. “Well, Sebastian, you picked a strange night to wander into Ashgrove.” He looked past me, into the shadows beyond the cave. “You hungry?” 

I blinked. “…What?”

He gave the faintest smirk. “You’ve got the look. Like someone who’s been walking a long time without meaning to. There’s a camp nearby. Safe enough, if you don’t mind rabbits.” 

I almost laughed. But it came out more like a breathless sigh. “Yeah,” I said. “Alright. Lead the way.” 

He turned, and I followed — back into the woods, back into the story, starting again. Only this time, I was the stranger. 

The trees whispered softly above us as we sat in the small clearing. Nick’s emerald eyes studied me for a moment. I shifted, the weight of everything still pressing against my chest. “Do you… still have tea?” 

Nick blinked, ears twitching slightly. “Tea?” he echoed, as if the word stirred something familiar. Then, with a small shrug, he reached toward the same spot on the ground and muttered under his breath. A worn leather pouch shimmered into view. “I never go anywhere without it,”
he said casually. Within moments, the familiar rhythm returned—firewood stacked neatly, a kettle appearing from the depths of the bag, two small cups wrapped in cloth. 

As the water began to heat over a small flickering flame, the smell of crushed leaves and something floral drifted up between us. He poured, slowly, steam curling into the cool forest air. “Here,”
he said, handing me the cup. “You look like someone who needs grounding.” I took it with both hands. 

The warmth seeped into my fingers, then deeper, as I brought it to my lips. “I… think I’ve had this before,” I murmured. 

Nick didn’t answer right away. He sipped his own tea, eyes on the flickering fire. Then, softly, “Maybe. Ashgrove’s full of echoes.”
I looked up at him. “Do you really not remember me?” He didn’t flinch. “No,” he said, without malice. “But maybe that’s not the same as not knowing you.”
We sat in silence after that. The tea warmed more than just my body. It held something I couldn’t quite name. Not comfort. Not memory. But something like the space in between The warmth of the tea settled inside me, but something deeper stirred — a fragile hope, a tether to something lost.

Without thinking, I reached out and pulled Nick into a sudden hug. 

His emerald eyes widened for a heartbeat, then softened. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his fur was warm against my chest, and for a moment, the strange silence between us felt less heavy. “I don’t know who you are,” he whispered softly, “but… I’m here.” 

I squeezed him gently, feeling a strange comfort in that simple truth. For the first time since waking, I didn’t feel so alone. The forest around us seemed to hold its breath as we moved deeper into Ashgrove. 

Nick walked ahead with quiet confidence, his emerald eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. I followed, my steps slower, weighed down by memories and questions I couldn’t voice. The path twisted and turned, roots curling like ancient fingers across the soil. The air grew cooler, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth. Somewhere above, birds began their morning songs — hesitant at first, then swelling into a chorus that felt like a promise. After some time, the trees began to thin, and the forest opened into a gentle clearing bathed in soft sunlight. 

Ahead, nestled against the edge of the woods, lay Cottonwell — the village of the rabbits. The rooftops, shaped like smooth stones and woven branches, peeked out from between tall grass and wildflowers. Smoke drifted lazily from a few chimneys, curling upward and vanishing into the blue sky. It looked peaceful — almost too peaceful, like a picture from a dream I wished to believe in. Nick slowed and glanced back at me. “This is where they live,”

he said quietly. “The rabbits. Quiet folk, mostly keep to themselves.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I remember this place. I... remember you.” He smiled softly, but there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

“Maybe. But the world’s different now. And so are we.” We stepped forward together, crossing the boundary from forest to village. 

The soft crunch of our footsteps was swallowed quickly by the sounds of Cottonwell waking up — doors creaking, soft voices murmuring, and the occasional thump of tiny paws. A few rabbits paused to watch us, their eyes wide but curious. They didn’t seem afraid, but something hung in the air — a fragile tension, as if the village was holding its breath too. Nick nudged me gently. “We should find a place to rest and gather our thoughts. There’s more waiting for us here than just quiet fields and old trees.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything — past and present, fear and hope — settle around me. 

“Yeah,” I said, almost to myself. “There’s more to figure out. And I’m ready.” 

We walked deeper into Cottonwell, the village beginning to stir around us, the unknown stretching ahead — but no longer quite so alone.