Chapter 1823

"Ask him why he was waiting."

Jude’s expression changed.

"Were you waiting for me?"

Sol nodded.

"Why?"

The boy looked towards the forest.

"Because someone told me to find you."

"Who?"

Sol didn’t answer.

The second boy raised his hand.

"I did."

The forest went silent.

Jude stared at him.

"You sent him?"

The second Sol nodded.

"Before the mountain woke. Before the doors opened. Before the first house remembered."

Jude looked at the child beside him.

"Is that true?"

Sol’s face had become very still.

Then he nodded.

"Yes."

Jude slowly released his shoulder.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I wanted to."

"When?"

"Every time."

"Then why didn’t you?"

Sol looked up.

"Because I didn’t know which memories were mine."

Jude said nothing.

The boy continued.

"Sometimes I remember the beach. Sometimes I remember the house. Sometimes I remember a room with no windows. Sometimes I remember standing beneath the tree."

He paused.

"And sometimes I remember you."

Jude’s expression softened.

"What do you remember about me?"

Sol looked at him.

"You were sad."

The answer came so quietly that Jude almost didn’t hear it.

"Before I met you?"

Sol nodded.

"You were looking for something. You didn’t know what it was, but you kept looking."

Jude felt a strange uneasiness.

The second boy stepped closer.

"He remembers more than he should."

Sol turned towards him.

"Stop."

"You have to return."

"No."

"You know what happens if you stay."

"I don’t care."

The second boy’s expression changed.

For the first time, the two children looked genuinely different.

One seemed frightened.

The other seemed angry.

The second Sol raised his hand.

The fourteen figures beneath the tree all turned towards them.

The lights in their hands began to flicker.

"Bring him to the house," the second boy commanded.

The figures started walking.

Jude immediately pulled Sol backwards.

"Run!"

They turned towards the wooden doorway.

But the path behind them had disappeared.

The forest stretched in every direction.

The enormous tree stood at its centre, its branches moving despite the absence of wind.

Jude looked for the entrance through which they had arrived.

There was no door.

Only trees.

And between them, hundreds of wooden birds were hanging from the branches.

Sol pointed towards a narrow path.

"This way!"

They ran.

The ground beneath their feet was covered in soft leaves. Strange flowers opened as they passed, releasing tiny blue sparks into the air.

Behind them, the fourteen figures continued walking.

They didn’t run.

They didn’t need to.

Every time Jude looked back, they were closer.

"Where are we going?" he shouted.

"To the stream!"

"What stream?"

"The one that remembers!"

They reached a clearing.

A narrow stream flowed through it.

But its water was moving upwards.

It ran from the ground towards the sky, disappearing into the branches of the trees.

Jude stopped.

"How are we supposed to cross that?"

Sol pointed towards a wooden bridge.

It stretched across the stream, but its planks were arranged upside down.

The railing was underneath the walkway.

Jude stared.

"That’s not a bridge."

"It was yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

Sol grabbed his hand.

"Come on!"

They stepped onto the first plank.

It moved beneath Jude’s feet.

He caught the railing.

The stream suddenly became still.

A reflection appeared on its surface.

Jude looked down.

He saw the village.

The central firepit.

The wooden houses.

The gardens.

And the women gathered around the fire.

But something was wrong.

There were thirteen women.

Layla was standing among them.

And beside her stood another Layla.

The reflection changed.

The second Layla approached the firepit and placed a wooden bowl on the ground.

All the women moved away from her.

Then the real Layla appeared.

She was standing near the orchard.

Her hands were covered in soil.

She looked towards the reflection.

Then she looked directly at Jude.

"Don’t cross," she said.

Jude froze.

Sol pulled his hand.

"Keep going!"

"That’s Layla!"

"It’s a memory!"

The reflection shifted again.

The woman in the orchard began walking towards the central firepit.

A second figure appeared behind her.

A woman wearing a pale dress.

The same woman who had stood in the first house.

She placed a hand on Layla’s shoulder.

The reflection went dark.

A voice rose from the stream.

"Every path returns to its beginning."

The bridge shook.

Jude hurried across.

Sol reached the other side first.

Jude followed just as the final plank disappeared.

They continued running until they reached another clearing.

There stood an enormous tree.

Its trunk was wide enough to contain a house.

Its roots spread across the ground like the branches of a buried forest.

At the base of the tree was a small opening.

Sol stopped.

"Here."

Jude looked at the opening.

"Is this the first house?"

The boy shook his head.

"It’s the entrance."

He crouched and brushed away some leaves.

Beneath them was a wooden door.

Unlike the doors they had seen before, this one was small and weathered.

It had no handle.

Only a circular hole in the centre.

Jude took out the wooden key.

The moment it touched the door, the roots began to move.

They withdrew slowly, revealing a narrow passage.

A warm golden light shone from within.

Jude hesitated.

"Are we safe here?"

Sol looked behind them.

The fourteen figures had reached the clearing.

They stood between the trees, watching.

The second Sol stepped forward.

"Don’t open it."

Jude looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because if you enter, you will remember."

"Remember what?"

The boy’s expression became almost desperate.

"Everything."

Jude looked at the door.

Then at Sol.

"Is that bad?"

The child beside him shook his head.

"No."

The second boy answered at the same time.

"Yes."

Jude closed his eyes briefly.

Two identical children.

Two different answers.

And a wooden house that seemed to know more about his life than he did.

He inserted the key.

The door opened.

The golden light grew brighter.

A soft sound came from inside.

Someone was singing.

A woman’s voice.