The trail through the Pale Root Grove had grown quiet again, save for the rhythmic crunch of boots and the low murmurs between companions.
Mira walked beside Kelan in silence, her fingers still faintly tingling from the leyline surge. The collapse of the breach had left more than just echoes in her muscles. It had tugged loose threads of memory, just glimpses, but they clung to her like the scent of smoke.
She glanced to her left, where Lira was adjusting her shoulder straps with a scowl. The young mage had taken a hit from a Riftspawn's screech the day before, and though the magical burn was gone, Mira could tell she was still shaken.
"You doing alright?" Mira asked softly.
Lira snorted. "I'm fine. Just hate when reality bends without asking permission."
"Yeah," Mira murmured, "it's been doing that a lot lately."
Ahead of them, Juno led the way, eyes scanning every shadow, every branch. The soon-to-be female bard hadn't said much since the breach closed, but Mira had seen her pause now and then to look at Rafael.
Not in distrust—but in something heavier. Recognition. Grief. Memories they weren't sure belonged to them.
Rafael moved at the rear, ever watchful, his blade sheathed but his posture taut. He hadn't slept again. Mira was starting to suspect he couldn't. Not really. Lira and Juno had both noticed it too, exchanging glances behind his back, trying to pretend they weren't as worried as they felt.
They crested a ridge, revealing a shallow valley where ruined pylons jutted like bones from the earth. The remnants of a Waypoint, one of the old arcane nodes used to stabilize inter-realm travel in ages past.
"We can rest there," Rafael said quietly.
Juno raised an eyebrow. "You sure it's not crawling with Voidlings?"
"Not yet," he said flatly. "But it will be. This site doesn't last the week."
Kelan exhaled beside Mira. "I hate how you say that. Like you've already seen the end."
"I have," Rafael replied. "Twice. Or maybe more."
They made camp within the skeletal ruin of the pylon, where fractured stone hummed faintly with leftover energy. As the others unpacked supplies, Rafael sat alone on one of the broken glyph-stones, head tilted back against the pale light filtering through cloudcover.
Mira approached slowly. "How many of us have you recruited in the past?"
He opened his eyes. "All of you. Some versions earlier than this. Some later. Sometimes I find only one of you. Sometimes none."
Juno sat beside him, frowning. "Why us?"
Rafael gave a thin smile. "Because you fight for something other than yourselves. Even when it kills you. And because... 'you are' the only ones I've never stopped missing."
Her throat tightened. It wasn't romance she heard in that, at least not only that. It was grief. A grief so layered it had become part of him.
That night, the fire burned low. Juno took first watch, kneeling on a rock near the entrance to the camp. Lira sat across from Mira, toying with a small rune crystal between her fingers. Its glow pulsed with her breath.
"I don't trust him," Lira said suddenly.
Mira blinked. "Rafael?"
"Yeah. I don't think he's lying, but I don't think he's telling us everything either."
"He never does," Juno added quietly from her post. "In every timeline I suddenly remember (even flashes) he only shares what he thinks we can handle."
Kelan stirred from his spot near the fire. "He's carrying centuries of trauma. Would you tell us everything if you knew it might break us?"
No one answered that.
In the morning, they awoke to find a traveler approaching from the south path. A tall woman in ragged red armor, dragging a rune-etched hammer behind her like it weighed nothing. Her silhouette cut a striking figure against the rising sun.
Juno was on her feet instantly, blade drawn. "Name yourself."
The woman stopped a few feet away and grinned. "Name's Bryn. Been looking for someone who remembers what dying feels like."
Rafael rose slowly. His brows furrowed. His voice was cold. "Bryn of Ashdrake. Do you remember me already? We've fought side by side before."
She chuckled. "Probably yes. Maybe not. 'Cause I don't remember a damn thing. But I 'knew' for sure that you died multiple times. And somehow, I have a connection with that death," she paused. "Weird, right?"
Lira narrowed her eyes. "Wait… was she part of the last team?" She asked Rafael.
Mira glanced at Rafael. "She was. Wasn't she?"
He nodded. "Timeline fourteen. She fought with us until the end. Held the line in Cinderdeep until everything burned."
Kelan stared. "She died?"
"Not just her. All of us did," Rafael said. "And now she's here again."
Juno lowered her sword. "You gonna try to kill us, Bryn?"
Bryn shrugged. "Not unless you start something first. Got tired of wandering. The dreams keep bringing me here."
Rafael looked her in the eye. "Then stay. If you can still fight."
She grinned wider. "Always."
That afternoon, the group moved to reinforce the edges of the Waypoint, setting up glyph alarms and sigil wards in preparation for what Rafael claimed would come.
Lira worked tirelessly beside Mira, occasionally muttering formulae in Old foreign language, the arcane tongue of her first mentors. Juno hauled stone and anchored runes like she was building a fortress. Bryn sparred with Kelan for over an hour, her hammer smashing the air with sonic cracks.
During a break, Bryn sat beside the fire, unwrapping the cloth from the head of her hammer. Mira joined her, curious.
"Where'd you get that thing?" Mira asked.
"Forged it after the fall of Twinspire," Bryn said. "Back then, I thought I was avenging something. Turns out, I was just following ghosts."
"You remember that much?"
"Only fragments," Bryn said. "Dreams, smells. Sounds. Faces like yours that won't go away. But it's more than enough."
Later that night, the camp quieted again. Rafael watched the six of them—their scars, their laughter, their fatigue. Lira and Juno sat together, working on fusing their wards for a more efficient perimeter.
Kelan listened to Bryn tell a story about dragging Rafael out of a pit of living ash in some previous life ago, and though he didn't laugh, he looked less haunted.
A thread had returned. Another had come anew.
And now, for the first time in a long time, Rafael dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, they would weave something stronger than fate.
***