Birds chirped above the slight rustle of leaves, the canopy stirred by a gentle breeze. Morning dew hung in the air and soaked the forest floor, carrying that clean, sharp smell that always came with dawn.

  It didn’t match what the woods looked like.

  Ancient, spire-straight trees towered over everything, the kind of age that made the place feel more like a relic than a living forest. They were similar to Earth’s redwoods in sheer scale, except their wood was the color of ash and their leaves were the same dull gray. Only the bark kept its normal brown, rough and furrowed, and even that looked worn down by centuries, flaking in patches. Their roots were worse. They pushed above the soil and braided together across the ground, forming a half-buried maze between trunks, slick with dew and eager to trip anyone desperate enough to run.

  The pecking of a woodpecker resounded as the day grew warmer, dawn bleeding into midday. Sunlight finally reached the forest bed, piercing through the thick blanket of gray leaves. Squirrels moved in full force, harvesting and scavenging for whatever food they could find.

  One of them, brazen, approached the hollow trunk of a dead graywood. It scurried left to right, left to right, then stopped for a heartbeat to peek over the rim. Its small horizon. Nothing moved. The coast was clear, and it seemed to rejoice, dropping back down to sniff along the rot-soft interior, searching for treasure.

  At last, it found two boys instead.

  Unconscious. Barely alive. Then the boy beneath it murmured something under his breath.

  The squirrel froze.

  Deathly scared, it bolted, claws scraping wet bark as it vanished into the maze of roots.

  Its little feet pattered off into the distance, leaving only the pecking.

  The pecking went on for hours, steady and stupid, until the murmuring boy suddenly gasped like the air in his lungs had run dry. His back shot up. He kicked at dirt and rot, scrambling deeper into the stump as his eyes darted wildly.

  Every frantic shove sent sharp pain lancing up into his skull, hard enough to snap him back to reality.

  My gaze steadied.

  I looked around with purpose again. Walls of a massive hollow stump curved around me, close and damp. Beside me, my friend slept, one hand still clutching me like he’d fallen unconscious mid-plea.

  My mouth was so dry it made a sound when I smacked it. I let go of the stump wall and forced my focus downward.

  My legs were a mess. Shallow lacerations ran across both, thin but angry, and splinters, thin but buried deep, were lodged along the cuts. I touched one and pain screamed up my shin.

  ’How the …’

  I clicked my tongue, cursed under my breath, and yanked the splinters free.

  Seeing my blood still flowing, I ripped the sleeves off my shirt and tied them around my legs. A crude bandage, but my lacerations weren’t deep. It would at least stem the bleeding.

  A confused wrinkle folded into my forehead as I looked around.

  We were in a stump.

  I grabbed Hein’s hand where it was still clenched around me and pried his fingers loose. He didn’t wake.

  ’Where are we—’

  I tried to stand.

  My body disagreed immediately. Weak. Hollow. Like I’d been poured out and left to dry. Blood loss, probably. I caught myself on the inner wall of the stump and forced my arms to work, wrenching myself up and forward inch by inch. Every movement dragged pain behind it like a chain.

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  Light spilled in ahead.

  I crawled toward it, slow, until I reached the entrance and stared out.

  At first it was almost normal. A forest with thick brush and undergrowth.

  Then it just… stopped.

  The underbrush cut short as if something had sucked the life out of it. Past that line, the ground turned into winding roots that braided together and rose in places, forming walls near six feet tall.

  I turned my head to the right as I eased out of the hollow.

  Towering gray trees stretched as far as I could see. Gray leaves. Ash-colored wood showing through flaking bark. And everywhere, those root-walls, making the forest feel less like a place and more like a labyrinth.

  ’How did we get here—’

  ’We were at the village. At that burned building.’

  The memory should have hit hard. It should have had weight.

  Instead it felt… hollow. Like I was reaching for something and my hand kept closing on air.

  ’What?’

  What was I reaching for?

  That empty space felt wrong, like I’d forgotten something—no. Not forgotten. More like something had been erased. A piece cut out clean, leaving only the outline behind.

  My frown deepened as my brain churned. I sank back and let my spine rest against the stump, forcing myself to think, to dig, to grab at the edges of the gap.

  Nothing came.

  After a long couple of minutes, I gave up. I let out a slow breath and stared upward.

  ’What do I remember…’

  I remembered my name was Kaizer. I remembered living in that burned village and why it burned. I remembered having a mother—warmth more than anything else. A voice, hands, the idea of her hovering over me like a blanket.

  But her face wouldn’t come. Every time I reached for it, it slid away, leaving nothing but that same clean blank space.

  I remembered Hein. My dear friend. I’d known him my whole life, and that at least felt solid.

  Then there was my age.

  I looked down at myself and the answer was obvious. Too small. Too light. Nine or ten, maybe.

  And yet something underneath that obviousness kept insisting I was older. Much older. Not in some vague, ‘I feel grown up’ way, but in the way my mind moved without asking permission—counting, measuring, bracing for danger, knowing what pain meant and what blood loss did. Knowledge that didn’t belong to a child.

  It all lived in that part of me I couldn’t access.

  Not forgotten.

  Erased.

  ’Erased or hidden?’

  I was still stuck in that thought when movement burst from the hollow stump’s entrance right next to me.

  Hein came stumbling out, breathing hard, panic all over his face. His eyes darted fast, scanning left and right like he’d lost something he couldn’t afford to lose. Like he’d woken up and found the space beside him empty.

  Then his gaze snapped onto me.

  Relief washed over him so visibly his shoulders sagged. He slowed himself down, blowing air out in a shaky exhale, and crossed the last steps to me. He grasped my shoulder, soft, like he needed to confirm I was actually there, then sat beside me.

  “You’re awake?” he asked, rhetorical. More for himself than me.

  I nodded.

  He turned away for a second, his face darkening as yesterday and the day before caught up to him. Then he lifted his eyes again and noticed my torn, bleeding legs.

  “You’re hurt!”

  The cogs turned fast as the realization hit him—that he’d caused it.

  “It— it—” Hein started stuttering.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “It’s not going to kill me.”

  His jaw clenched. “They were— they came back.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder.

  “I understand.”

  At that, Hein finally seemed to relax. He recomposed himself, trying to become that stalwart figure again—the one who’d made a promise yesterday.

  Hein leaned back and cleared his throat, trying to look composed.

  Not a beat later, his stomach growled—twice.

  It made me chuckle. “You hungry?”

  “You too,” Hein shot back, one eyebrow raised.

  “Oh.” I glanced down like I could catch my own body betraying me. My stomach was growling too, just not as loudly as his.

  “Gimme a second.” He stood, hunched as he ducked back to retrieve the bundle he’d brought.

  He set it down in front of us: a kitchen knife, pieces of jerky, and a few rags.

  Pretty prepared for a ten-year-old.

  He looked up at me, then hesitated before grabbing three pieces. He held out two, uncertainty in his hand. My fingers reached instinctively—then something in me stopped it. I took only one.

  “You’re right,” I said. “We need to save food. We don’t know how long we might have to run.”

  He slid the extra piece back into the bundle with a faint smile that couldn’t quite hide the exhaustion. He tied it shut again, sat beside me, and we both chewed on bark.

  After chewing on that premium jerky for what felt like hours—two minutes, maybe—Hein stood and dusted himself off. He paced a loose circle near the stump, head turning as he checked the treeline, the underbrush, the root-walls. I stayed where I was, watching him, because my legs still throbbed like they had their own heartbeat.

  After a couple minutes, he came back and squatted in front of me.

  “It seems safe for now,” he said, then swallowed. “But we should probably get moving.”

  I nodded toward the left. “That’s where we came from, right?”

  He nodded once.

  “…So that leaves us this ‘forest’.” I angled my chin toward the gray maze. “Great.”

  “We don’t exactly have much choice,” Hein said.

  Something in me agreed, but it did it with a warning. The air past that line felt wrong. Like stepping into something that would rather you didn’t leave.

  I sighed. “Well, help me up, won’t you?”

  He hesitated, the guilt flickering across his face, then he moved in anyway. “Of course…”

  His arm slid under mine.

  And right in the middle of it, barking rang out in the distance—fast, sharp, closing in from the direction we’d come.

  Hein stiffened. “Bad.”

  He hurried me upright, too quick for my legs to enjoy.

  “No choice now,” I muttered, my mouth twisting into a frown. “Definitely.”

  He pulled me toward the root maze.

  “The bundle!” I snapped.

  He set me back against the stump and lunged for it, fingers fumbling once before he got the knot. Then he was back, and we moved—him half carrying, half dragging me into the labyrinth.

  The barking kept coming.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  Then the gray woods deadened it.

  Lost

  To have what you knew, gone.

  To have what you are, ripped apart.

  To be a son without memory.

  Once life was full to the brim.

  Warmth, steaming stew, and love.

  Now burned to ash, the only thing left is to mourn.

  Now you and your home are an empty crypt.

  Now everything is forgotten, with no remedy.

  To live such a life.

  Confused and lost.

  What would be the answer?