Some truths are buried where no one dares to look
As she slept curled on the couch in her apartment, the waking world faded away, and the corridors of her mind opened to me again. Her mind hadn't truly rested—It shifted beneath the surface, and I followed.
I wasn't going to sit here and do nothing until I faded away, becoming a part of her memories, where I no longer recognized myself. Would I become a whisper she mistook for her own thought? A ghost that even she forgot existed? The idea was worse than death itself, because death meant my soul moved on, but this… this meant being erased while still existing. I fear it's already happening.
I walked around Valley's mind for hours, room after room, trying to prevent it.
My feet would have hurt if I felt any physical pain here, but I've learned that the only pain I feel is guilt, or sadness, or even anger, only what I allow to hurt me.
But lately, I haven't been sure how much longer I'd be able to fight the fade. Each day inside Valley's mind felt thinner, like the threads that held me here were fraying, one by one, into her threads. I was having trouble recalling events from my past, even people.
I tried to picture my sister's face and came up blank. Even the sound of her voice was starting to blur.
Then I saw a blue door.
The blue was deeper than any paint could capture, like staring into the heart of a storm. I hesitated, my hand hovering just above the knob. Doors in Valley's mind didn't always lead where you expected them to, and this one felt… aware of me. It seemed to hum beneath my fingertips, as if it knew what waited on the other side. A warning I ignored as I twisted it open and stepped through.
Then, it disappeared behind me.
The air was brisk and dry. The sky had a dull gray color, and the wind moved like breath drawn through teeth. Even the snow smelled faintly metallic, like old blood buried beneath it.
And I walked through it without feeling a single shiver, but the snow on the ground and the footprints behind me after each step I took told me it should have been cold. I turned my head back around and saw a sign that read, "Danger, you've gone too far." Turn back now. " It was red and refused to be ignored. Although it had been described as much more ancient and duller red than I am seeing now.
It was Elysia.
The air here felt… wrong, as though the snow itself would melt to hide away if Atropa knew I was here. Or even the Threadcutter for that matter.
Legends said Elysia was swallowed whole by Atropa long ago. They said the first rebellion began here, under this frozen sky. Maybe that was why Atropa tried so hard to erase it: not because it was dangerous, but because it remembered. Its people were scattered or erased. Forbidden to go to, and only the Weaver and her head council knew it existed. There were no train tracks to lead here. No pathways. And if you did find your way here, you were never heard from again, according to the stories. Stories meant only for Noctirians. It was past the sheltered sky, meaning Thesirians don't track this piece of land and have never heard of it. Atropa keeps that knowledge locked away like everything else. They wouldn't want their people knowing about the genocide they caused here a century ago.
Standing here now felt like stepping into a ghost story I'd been warned never to tell outside of Noctira because it could get our people and even their people killed if they learned about it. It's the same as if they had learned about our land. Thesirians are too oblivious to realize anything was outside of their world anyway, so they really only had to worry about us, but Noctira was so far away from Elysia. It's on the other side of the ocean from Solence.
Each snowflake fell too slowly. It was like the world here had forgotten how to rush. Every second stretched thin—a place suspended between moments, where even thought took effort. Sunlight reflected on each one as it rotated, as if time itself hesitated to move forward. The silence pressed in so thick it felt alive. My thoughts, which did make it through, were so loud, like an echo in a nearly empty room, I almost felt like I was speaking them for everyone to hear, even though there was no one around. Somewhere far off, the faint creak of ice broke the stillness, a sound that felt like a warning meant only for me.
I never knew Valley had visited Elysia—if she even had. The place wasn't supposed to exist, erased from every Thesira map centuries ago. A forbidden zone, whispered about by my people in stories meant to keep the children in line, away from Atropian Danger. And yet, here it was, built from snow and silence inside her mind.
I moved forward, leaving a fleeting print in the bright white sparkles, each one erased almost instantly with more snow that the mountain air brought, as if the mind itself were hiding my presence.
It felt like days had gone by, and the smell of pine kept me going.
That was until I saw the Threadcutter entering a cabin. What was he doing here? So far away from home.
I crouched low, and the snow crunched beneath my feet. I was inching toward the cabin window until my breath fogged the glass. I still hadn't felt cold, but the cloudiness on the window alerted me that if I were alive, I would have died all over again, frozen in place. Inside, the Threadcutter stood with his scythe propped against the hearth, warm and cozy, I presumed, talking to someone I thought I'd never see here herself.
The Weaver.
I figured she'd only send her right hand here because of how isolated it would be for her to be here, away from the protection of city guards.
I never thought I'd see the Threadcutter here either. The same man who told us this place was forbidden.
Was it all a lie? Just a place for a secret rendezvous?
My pulse stuttered.
My chest constricted, a mix of fear and betrayal clawing at me.
Had they been working together all along? Had every rebellion order been a performance? My stomach twisted. The man who'd taught me everything—how to fight, how to believe—might have been leading us straight into their hands all along. If that were true, then nothing we'd fought for was real.
Why didn't he tell us he knew her personally? I had so many questions, but I had no way to ask him.
I tried to catch my breath and get back to the reality of all that was going on here.
I'd always imagined what I'd do if I ever faced her, but now that she was here—close enough for me to see the frost clinging to her lashes—I couldn't move. She was no longer a rumor whispered in rebellion halls. I'd imagined her as a tyrant, a monster cloaked in rage. But the woman by the fire was calm, almost gentle to him. She was real, and worse, she was smiling.
The two most dangerous forces I knew, standing side by side like old friends.
Their heads snapped toward the window, and I dropped beneath the sill, pressing into the snow as if I could disappear into it.
I didn't know what to think. My brain couldn't figure out why on earth he'd be here with her.
I saw no sign of Valley, but she had to be somewhere, unless this wasn't her memory at all, but someone else who was here. Their memory, on display this time. But it still brought me no closer to figuring out who, just more questions.
Unless he is the other person in her mind? The Threadcutter. Then I could speak to him, but fear weighed me down. Fear that I'd be losing an ally that I so heavily relied on. Someone I looked up to and vouched for.
I heard footsteps coming outside onto the porch. It was The Weaver. Her voice cut through. "I'll check and make sure this meeting is secure." She continued around the corner, and there she was as visible as the breath in front of me. It felt like she was staring a hole through me with those sinister blue eyes. She stood there, my chest feeling heavy and prepared to attack.
"Nothing's out here," she said smoothly. "Only the kind of shadow you imagine in your sleep." She laughed sinisterly. Yet her eyes lingered on the exact patch of snow where I knelt, as if she could feel me breathing.
She turned away, her hair falling in a perfect, cold sheet, hiding whatever darkness simmered beneath. Her presence distorted the air around her, or my vision was off in this place, hazy in this unfamiliar world.
Nothing? Just a shadow?
I wondered why she said that when I was clearly in her sight.
I stood up to test a theory. I walked behind her into the cabin, where a fire was going, and the thread cutter was standing by it, poking it with his scythe. He turned back to look at her, a smile on his face as if he enjoyed her company.
"Hey, dear, could you bring me another log?"
"Sure thing," she responded.
My breath caught.
She hadn't seen me. Neither had he. So, they couldn't be the ones behind this.
Only the true owner of this memory could see me. Just as Valley had seen me in hers.
I had to find out who they were. It was too dangerous for her to have so many people merged with her, whether that was the case or if they were here another way. That was just too many minds influencing her decisions. And if we all were indifferent to each other, it could tear her apart.
And if she shattered under the weight of us, I'd lose the last thread holding me here as well.
So, I had to find them to save her. And me.
Somewhere in this frozen vision, they were watching… and waiting.
Now all I'd have to do is find the actual person this memory belongs to. Whoever could see me would give it away, but then that would also give me away. But they already knew I was here, so it didn't matter if they saw me, if I could see them first.
I heard footsteps behind me, the sting of their gaze on my back. I turned to look, but it was too late.
I was yanked through the front door and miles away from the cabin.
I sprinted but couldn't see anything. It was too dark.
The snow stretched endlessly now.
Mist curled upward, whispering with voices I almost recognized. One of them spoke a name I hadn't heard in years—Clara—and then it was gone, swallowed by an unknown light. Blinding, and too bright to focus on anything else, or where the voices were coming from.
My footsteps echoed back at me, too loud, too human in a place built entirely from thought.
I felt their gaze even here, like icy fingers brushing the back of my neck.
They'd seen me. and then removed me without any struggle at all.
Noctirians told stories of Elysia to scare children into obedience. Never realizing the real terror was what those stories tried to hide.
Which meant the game had changed, and now I'd have to run faster, hide deeper, fight harder to uncover the truth before they found me first.
Because if they could see me here, then they could find me anywhere.
And if they were already looking… how much time did I have left?