The forest was wrong.
Not evil.
Not hostile.
Just... misaligned.
The trees leaned at odd angles.
The ground pulsed faintly, as if the heartbeat of something ancient echoed beneath the soil.
Noé stared at his palm.
The rune still glowed faintly.
Not burning.
Not searing.
Just waiting.
Like a compass pointed at a place the world had forgotten.
Mira stood close to him, her eyes darting to every flicker in the shadows.
Lysira walked ahead, leading carefully, her casting bracelet shimmering softly with protective sigils.
They had no map.
Only Noé's instinct.
Only the rune that itched every time he faced the wrong direction.
And so, they moved.
Through hollow woods.
Past trees that wept sap that smelled like rain.
Over stones that hummed when touched.
The forest was alive.
Not welcoming.
Not warning.
Just observing.
At the crest of a low hill, Noé stopped.
His heart hammered once—hard.
Because down below—
in a small clearing of dying grass—
stood a single object.
A gate.
No fence.
No walls.
Just a gate, alone, upright in the field.
And hanging from its top—
A second bell.
Identical to the first.
Silent.
Waiting.
Lysira cursed under her breath.
Mira shivered.
Noé stepped forward.
Because this time—
he felt something else.
Not fear.
Not pressure.
Recognition.
When he touched the gatepost—
the rune on his palm pulsed once, violently.
The bell didn't ring.
But the world around them shuddered.
And Noé heard it—
soft and broken—
a voice, not from outside,
but from inside:
"We found you once before."
The gate creaked.
Not forward.
Not backward.
It peeled inward—
as if the air itself split.
Beyond it, there was no forest.
No ground.
Just a corridor of light.
Flickering.
Shifting.
Memories floated along the edges like drifting feathers:
• A rooftop under starlight.
• A courtyard filled with laughter.
• A bell swinging silently in the wind.
Noé stepped closer.
His heart knew this place,
even if his mind refused.
Mira hesitated behind him.
"This feels wrong," she whispered.
Lysira placed a steady hand on Mira's shoulder.
"Maybe," she said.
"But sometimes wrong places hold right answers."
Noé turned.
He looked at them both.
"I'm going in," he said simply.
And stepped through.
The world turned inside out.
Not violently.
Like a memory surfacing.
He stumbled slightly—
and found himself standing on cobblestones.
Under a sky that shimmered purple and silver.
Buildings curved at impossible angles around him.
Windows blinked open like eyes.
Doors whispered open and shut with no sound.
Mira and Lysira stepped out beside him, blinking against the sudden change.
"This isn't the Academy," Mira said.
"No," Noé said quietly.
He pointed ahead.
At a tower rising far in the distance.
Spiraled in runes.
Glowing softly.
And at the top—
Another bell.
But this one wasn't silent.
Even from here,
they could feel it.
A heartbeat pulsing through the air.
And carved at the base of the tower, visible even from this distance—
the word:
"Remember."
The ground beneath their feet shifted with each step forward.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't resistance.
It was... loss.
A feather-light tug at the edge of their minds.
Like forgetting where you placed a memory—
or why you ever held onto it.
Noé gritted his teeth.
His hand throbbed where the Memory Rune still glowed.
Mira stumbled slightly.
Lysira caught her, steadying her with a firm grip.
"Be careful," Lysira said.
"This place doesn't steal.
It trades."
Mira looked up, her eyes wide.
"What are we giving?"
Lysira's voice was low.
"Pieces of who we were."
The closer they came to the tower,
the heavier the air became.
The sky pulsed like a slow drumbeat.
Noé could feel the map—the path—pulling him forward,
but the cost whispered louder with every step:
• A birthday party he couldn't quite picture.
• A laugh he didn't remember hearing.
• A promise he couldn't recall making.
Small things.
At first.
The tower loomed larger now.
Carved runes shimmered up its surface like climbing vines.
And from the bell at the top—
waves of memory rippled outward.
Not sounds.
Feelings.
Noé stumbled.
He saw flashes:
• A silver-haired girl reaching for his hand under the stars.
• A hidden garden behind the old Academy halls.
• A kiss that had never happened.
Or had it?
He didn't know anymore.
And that was the price.
Mira grabbed his sleeve.
"We're almost there," she said, voice strained.
"But we have to hurry."
Noé nodded.
And together, they crossed the final threshold.
The tower doors opened on their own.
No sound.
No warning.
Just an invitation.
Inside—
a staircase spiraled upward.
No railings.
No safety.
Only trust.
Only memory.
Noé stepped in first.
The rune on his hand flared—
and for a moment,
he remembered a name.
Not his own.
Hers.
The one he had been trying not to forget all along.
Lysira.
But before he could speak it—
the door behind them closed.
And the ascent began.
The staircase stretched into forever.
Each step they climbed—
the air grew thinner.
Memories pulsed against the stone walls.
Some familiar.
Some wrong.
Noé saw flashes out of the corner of his eye:
• Mira laughing beside a river that never existed.
• Lysira crying under a sky made of glass.
• Himself—standing before a throne made of bones.
Each vision tried to pull him aside.
To tempt him.
To ask:
"Would you rather live here instead?"
But he gritted his teeth.
He remembered.
He remembered why he couldn't give in.
Mira stumbled.
Noé caught her.
"You okay?"
She nodded weakly.
"I... I almost forgot why we were climbing."
Lysira stayed ahead of them, every rune on her bracelet glowing fiercely now, burning like small stars against the dark.
They climbed higher.
And higher.
Until at last—
the staircase ended.
Before them stood a door.
Ancient.
Carved with endless spirals of text in a language none of them knew.
Noé reached out.
His fingers brushed the wood.
It felt warm.
Alive.
Waiting.
The Memory Rune on his palm pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then the door swung inward.
Beyond it:
Not a throne.
Not a monster.
A simple room.
Circular.
Empty.
Except—
in the center—
a boy.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Silver hair.
Eyes like broken mirrors.
And when he looked up—
Noé's heart stopped.
Because the boy—
was him.
Older?
Younger?
No.
Not another version.
Something else.
The part of him
he had locked away.
The part that remembered.
The boy smiled sadly.
And when he spoke—
it wasn't a challenge.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a greeting.
"You finally came back."
Noé stared at the boy.
At himself.
At the piece of him he had abandoned without knowing.
Mira stepped closer, but didn't interrupt.
Lysira stayed at the door, her rune-glow dimming slowly.
The boy smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not sadly.
Just truthfully.
"You left us behind," the boy said gently.
"Because you had to."
Noé's mouth felt dry.
"Who... are you really?"
The boy tilted his head.
"I'm the part of you that remembered when you weren't allowed to."
Noé's knees buckled slightly.
He fell to one knee, clutching his chest.
Visions slammed into him:
• A bell tower that never existed.
• A girl waiting by a tree whose leaves never fell.
• A kiss that shattered the world instead of saving it.
Tears blurred his vision.
The boy stood.
Walked closer.
Kneeling down to meet Noé's gaze.
"You weren't supposed to survive," he whispered.
"But you did."
"You weren't supposed to love," he said, voice softer now.
"But you did."
"You weren't supposed to choose."
"But you did."
"And because you chose—"
he smiled wider—
"—they had to erase it."
Noé gasped.
The bells.
The sundials.
The distorted forest.
They weren't accidents.
They were stitches.
Desperate attempts to hold a world together after it had been torn open by a single choice:
To love.
The boy placed a hand over Noé's.
"You can go forward now," he said.
"But if you do—"
He looked up.
Toward Mira.
Toward Lysira.
Toward all the memories waiting.
"—you have to remember everything."
Noé's body trembled.
He closed his eyes.
He saw Mira laughing.
He saw Lysira crying.
He saw himself standing at the threshold of two worlds—
one safe.
One true.
And when he opened his eyes—
the boy was gone.
Only the Memory Rune remained, burning brighter than ever.
The tower faded around them.
The sky shifted.
The world whispered:
"Choose again."
And together—
hand in hand—
they stepped into the new world waiting for them.