We ran deeper into the forest, where the fog was so thick I could barely see my own hand.
The echo of that shockwave still trembled inside me — like my memories had been shaken loose, peeling away layer by layer.
“They won’t stop,” Wind whispered, as if speaking to the trees.
“Who are they, really?” I asked. “Why do they hunt memories?”
She didn’t answer right away.
We reached a round tree with swirling patterns carved into its bark.
Wind placed her palm on the trunk.
At once, the ground beneath us split open.
A hidden stairway revealed itself, sloping deep underground.
“Down,” she said. “Quickly.”
I followed her just as the earth closed behind us.
Below, the air was cold and still.
A narrow stone tunnel stretched ahead, echoing with our breath.
The walls were covered in ancient carvings — faceless figures bowing before an open doorway, behind them a whirl of circles like spinning memories.
“They’re not human,” Wind said finally. “They used to be — or wore human shapes once. But after staying too long in unstable memory layers… they changed.
They forgot who they were. Now, all they know is how to guard the structure of reality — at any cost.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I was a dreamer,” she replied. “But I forgot where I came from. Just like you.”
Her words stopped me for a moment.
We walked on in silence.
The tunnel led us to a round chamber, with dozens of branching corridors stretching out like the arms of a giant jellyfish.
Wind led me down the one on the right — marked only by faint handprints on the stone.
“This path doesn’t exist on any map,” she said. “Only those carrying foreign memories can see it.”
At the end of the corridor stood a silver wooden door.
It shimmered slightly, as if breathing.
We opened it and stepped through.
On the other side… was not a forest. Not a house.It was a train station.
Abandoned.
