Some doors whispered when they opened, threads of old laughter or faint perfume rushing out before the air went still again. I never knew if stepping through would take me closer to her or deeper into the maze. But I walked anyway. Rain had always been the signal, the pulse of something waiting beyond, the way a heartbeat echoes through a wall. If I could follow it long enough, maybe I'd stop losing her.
I would walk through every door if it meant one more chance to see her in the rain.
I kept thinking of home, then the temperature around me changed from cool to humid. Snapping me out of the dark haze that almost swallowed me whole. I could smell Freshly baked Maple cookies nearby, wet soil rich with nutrients beneath me.
Somewhere a bird called—a low, throaty sound carved from the river itself. The humidity clung to my face like a second skin. Even the sunlight felt heavier here, filtered through leaves so green they almost glowed. A stream gurgled nearby, invisible but sure, and I caught the flicker of dragonflies weaving above it. Everything inside me went still, like stepping into a painting where nothing could hurt you.
The smell of life, straight from the source, as if I were really home.
I opened my eyes. I couldn't believe it. I was home, somehow. I was in my own memory.
I'm sure that couldn't be good, manifesting my memory here in existence, into her mind. But I didn't want to worry about it right now.
The sky was enormous when viewed from a distance, away from the tall greenery.
I wanted to explore and experience it again. It had been so long since I've been back.
How sudden a dark thought and a night breeze could change into a comforting one under the warm sun.
I walked the dirt trail, the heat of Thesira pressing against my back. Leaves crunched brittle under someone else's feet, the scent earthy and sharp in the damp air.
It reminded me of the time I walked this very path with my grandmother, Maelynn. She always had a basket of food prepared and walked me to the Tucker Tree stump. It was large enough to serve as a dining table that could accommodate twenty people. A round table. And she always had enough food for anyone who joined or showed up late.
She'd set a square of woven cloth over the stump as if the tree itself deserved a tablecloth. Steam rose from jars she'd wrapped in towels—root stew, honey bread, small fruit pies with sugar crusts that stuck to my fingers. Travelers drifted out of the woods and Maelynn greeted each one by name, her voice warm enough to keep the rain away. I'd sit cross-legged beside her, trying to memorize the smell of every dish before someone else took it. Even now, the memory filled my mouth with sweetness and ash.
I crouched and pressed my palm to the ground. The soil clung to my skin, damp and alive, smelling of iron and moss. A breeze carried the faint clink of wind chimes she'd find and collect on her many walks, followed by the hush of river water sliding over stones. My chest tightened. I remembered running barefoot down this same path as a boy, Maelynn's hand steady on my shoulder, the world a blur of green.
I revelled in the memory before hearing a familiar voice.
Then I noticed someone up ahead.
It was Valley, gazing at the sacred eye—the one the Threadcutter had carved into a maple tree to shield our people from outsiders. It burned with protection. A skill only he could do, whether it was Science or magic, it all felt the same to me.
Threads of sap turned to amber light under the bark, coiling inward like a pupil that never blinked. When the breeze shifted, the carving made a sound like cloth tearing underwater. The elders said the Eye didn't just watch — it listened, storing every promise made beneath it. Standing there now, I could almost hear them, voices layered on voices, as if the tree itself remembered more than we did.
It kept people who didn't share our way of life at bay. And it worked for many decades, but I had hoped it wouldn't work against Valley.
She stood barefoot at the base of the Eye, hair damp from the mist, eyes lifted as if reading a message only she could see. When I reached for her, the world jolted — not a wall but a surge, like static exploding across my ribs. My knees buckled. The trees flickered, edges bending like heat waves. Someone else was here. Not memory, not protection, but a presence pressing me back with invisible hands. It wasn't just pain; it was recognition, a pressure that felt like a hand on my chest and a whisper in my ear — not hers. Cold, certain, and wordless, like the ocean at night. My vision blurred at the edges, colors draining to grey before snapping back. Whoever it was, they didn't want me seen. I dug my fingers into the soil to anchor myself, its damp grit biting my skin, and forced my eyes to stay on Valley.
I rushed to her side once more.
I wanted to be there, to speak to this Valley, the version that knows me, remembers me.
But just as I reached her again, something unseen shoved me back again. Hard and deliberate.
Someone who didn't want me near her. Someone who had more power here than me. But I didn't have time to figure it out. I wanted to be here before it was all gone. Before I was tossed into another memory, another door.
I looked ahead where she stood still. She wasn't moving. I had to go further to see my people.
"Find it," I yelled.
I could tell she heard.
Whether she knew where it came from or not, she started moving forward, and I was relieved.
The further she got, the further I could go.
She could see the town below, and so could I, now that I stood on higher ground than she.
Rain began to fall, and any anger I had left from before had washed away in this moment.
The sounds of my people down below. Buildings in disguise, hidden from anyone who would try to impose an ideology on us that didn't fit ours.
My throat ached. This was everything I'd sworn to protect and everything I'd lost.
I wish I could just be in this moment, watching her hang her tongue out to catch the rain.
She looked so beautiful.
Her hair almost touched the ground because her head tilted up toward the sky. The warm rain against her skin made her glow in a way I never got the chance to see before I died.
I wanted to grab her, pick her up, and spin her around. Tell her how amazing she looked under the wet Noctira sky.
Kiss her like there wasn't a veil between us.
But every time I tried, I'd get thrown back again.
So I stood there one final time.
I turned up and stuck my tongue out to feel what she feels. The closest I could get to her.
The rain only ever made me sticky. A stickiness I would gladly have back if I could.
I never wanted to die. I don't think I really grieved it.
I wish I could have brought her here myself when I was still alive.
My home.
But it wouldn't last, Valley's name cut through sharply, tearing the memory apart.
I didn't know if it was a coincidence or the Threadcutter's protection at work, but I had to find it again.
No matter how many doors I had to open.
I needed to be able to come and go and learn a way to communicate directly with Valley.
Not just thoughts that dissipate into the back of her mind.
Seeing my home reminded me that the mission wasn't over. The longer I wandered, the more I feared I'd end in nothing more than a quieter kind of vanishing. But I wasn't afraid of that. What scared me was vanishing before Valley ever heard me.
Each time the memory tore, I felt myself fray a little more, like a thread snagged on a nail, fibers separating until only a ghost of color remained. It wasn't dying—I'd done that already—it was being rewritten, overwritten by silence. If that happened before she turned her head and truly saw me, there'd be nothing left to reach for.
And if I could learn to navigate her mind, who else—or what else—could too?
Or already has?
Voices, memories, lies, they could trap me before I ever found a way to speak.
And if I fail, it wouldn't just be my people I would be failing.
I couldn't fail her. Her mind was too precious to lose.