It is said that when a soul crosses the veil with memory intact, it leaves behind not just echoes, but threads.
Invisible. Unbreakable.
And somewhere in the quiet hours of early dawn, Haera wakes — not from a nightmare, but from a life she hasn't lived yet.
---
She sees a train station.
A fog-drenched platform.
She is not Haera — not in name — but her heart recognizes the ache of longing all the same.
Cairos stands across from her, dressed in black.
And in her hands, a letter she doesn't remember writing… yet.
---
When she blinks, she's back in her dorm room at Asterley.
But her fingers still feel the weight of that paper.
And on her palm, drawn faintly in silver ink, the words:
> "Come find me in the life you left behind."
---
She rushes to the greenhouse.
It's empty — for now.
But the velvet chair is gone. In its place: a suitcase.
Dusty. Leather-bound. With a train ticket tucked under the strap.
> "Departure: 12:01AM — Memory Line."
"Destination: The City of What Never Was."
---
Cairos appears in the doorway, holding an envelope with his name on it — written in her handwriting.
> "You too?" he says softly.
She nods.
---
> "What do you think it means?" she asks.
> "I think we're being called somewhere."
> "By who?"
> "By the versions of us who never got to finish."
---
They open the suitcase together.
Inside: a photograph.
Black and white. Torn.
It shows a girl in 1940s clothing standing next to a boy in military uniform.
They are smiling, but just barely.
Like they know something is about to break.
On the back, a note:
> "Chapter One begins at the goodbye we never said."
---
Haera closes her eyes.
She remembers nothing.
And yet — everything.
---
> "Volume Two," she says aloud.
> "What?" Cairos asks.
> "I think it's starting."
---
The train whistle sounds in the distance — though there are no tracks at Asterley.
Not in this world, anyway.
---
Volume Two Begins Soon — The Lives We Left Behind.