The wind was warm, carrying the scent of pine and old rain.
Three years.
That's how long it had taken—three long years of endless roads, shifting skies, and fractured horizons. But now, at last, the redwoods stood before them. Towering, ancient, silent. Their crimson bark shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and their shadows stretched across the valley like the fingers of forgotten gods.
The wind through the redwoods carried a low, ancient hum—like the forest itself was breathing.
Retro and Lea stood among the ruins of the old village, where the last traces of civilization met the untouched wilderness. Moss-covered rooftops leaned under the weight of years, and trees had grown through what were once the narrow streets. Shafts of summer light broke through the high canopy, painting the stone and overgrowth in soft gold.
It wasn't home. Not yet. But it was close.
Lea (looking around): "It's hard to imagine people lived here once."
Retro: "Yeah… This place used to be full of life. Merchants, travelers, hunters coming in from the forest. Everyone passed through here at least once."
He stepped forward, brushing his hand over a crumbling wall, his fingers tracing the faint marks of runes that had long faded. The ground still held traces of mana, faint and pulsing—like the memory of laughter frozen in time.
Retro: "Time's been kind, in its own way. It didn't erase this place—it just let it sleep."
Lea crouched by an old well, peering down into the dark. Her reflection shimmered faintly on the water far below.
Lea: "You think anyone ever came back here?"
Retro shook his head.
Retro: "Not after the war. The corruption spread too far, too fast. People either fled or… didn't make it."
Lea's expression softened. "And you?"
He glanced up at the towering redwoods beyond the village, their trunks vanishing into mist.
Retro: "I left because I had to. But now? Now I'm back because I want to be."
He turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Retro: "Come on, kiddo. The cabin's deeper in. It's about another half day through the forest if the old trails are still there."
They began walking, the forest swallowing them in its deep emerald shade. The air grew cooler, thicker with the scent of moss and old bark. The faint hum of magic returned—the kind of quiet, natural energy that only places untouched by mankind still carried.
As they walked, Lea noticed something.
Lea: "It's peaceful here. But it doesn't feel empty."
Retro nodded, his eyes scanning the canopy.
Retro: "That's because it isn't. The redwoods remember. Everything that ever happened here, every voice that ever called it home… it lingers."
A distant echo rolled through the forest—low and hollow, like a song carried by the wind. Lea froze.
Lea: "What was that?"
Retro smiled faintly.
Retro: "Just the forest saying hello."
She looked up toward the sound, and for a moment, she swore she saw faint motes of green light drifting between the trees—shapes of long-forgotten people walking, laughing, living.
Lea (softly): "It's beautiful…"
Retro: "It always was."
The sun began to dip behind the redwoods as they reached the ancient path—a narrow trail lined with glowing moss that wound deeper into the forest. The light dimmed, the air thickening with the presence of something powerful yet calm.
Retro paused, taking a deep breath.
Retro: "We're close."
Lea (looking ahead): "How can you tell?"
Retro (smiling faintly): "Because the forest feels alive again."
They pressed onward, the whispers of the old village fading behind them as the deeper redwoods opened their arms to welcome them home.
The redwoods grew denser with every step.
The air grew cooler, thicker with mana, and the light dimmed beneath the vast canopy above. For hours, Retro and Lea walked in silence, the only sounds being the rustle of ferns beneath their boots and the faint hum of the forest itself.
Eventually, the trees parted just enough to reveal a small clearing—a circle of old growth where the roots tangled together like veins of the earth itself. And there, tucked away beneath a ridge of moss and red bark, stood the cabin.
Lea froze in place.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at it—the worn, weathered building leaning softly under the weight of time. The roof sagged in places, the wood was dark with age, but the structure still held together. It felt… alive, like the forest had chosen to protect it.
Lea (whispering): "This… this is it?"
Retro's eyes softened as he took in the sight. "Yeah. This is home."
Lea stepped forward slowly, her gaze wide with wonder. She had heard about this place her whole life—how Retro built it after the war, how Atlas and Lilly once lived here, how laughter once echoed between these trees. But seeing it in person… was different.
It wasn't a ruin. It was a memory, standing against time itself.
As she reached the porch, she hesitated. The boards were worn, but not rotten. And there, on the railing, she noticed something—a faint smudge, like a handprint.
Lea: "Dad… someone's been here."
Retro was already scanning the area, his instincts kicking in. The ground near the steps was disturbed—light tracks leading toward the door, not more than a week old. Someone had come here recently, and left in a hurry.
He crouched low, brushing his fingers over the dirt. "Fresh prints. Small, but not yours."
Lea's hand moved to her sword. "Who would even find this place?"
Retro didn't answer. His expression had gone cold, alert. He stood and pushed the cabin door open carefully. The hinges creaked, the sound breaking the heavy silence.
The smell hit first—not decay, but smoke. Someone had lit a fire not long ago. The ashes in the hearth were still faintly warm.
Inside, dust hung in the air like fog, disturbed in strange patterns. Papers scattered on the old table. A kettle near the firepit. A chair moved out of place.
Lea stepped inside slowly, eyes wide. "It's… someone's been living here."
Retro's gaze landed on something near the wall—a set of marks carved into the wood, symbols too precise to be random. He frowned, tracing one with his fingertip. The air shimmered faintly as he did.
The mark pulsed with golden light—soft, rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
Retro (quietly): "This isn't Atlas's work."
Lea: "Then whose?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. But whoever it was… they knew magic."
Lea moved to the window, scanning the tree line. "You think they'll come back?"
Retro sighed softly, his voice steady but low. "If they meant harm, they'd have stayed. But this…" He gestured toward the sigils. "This feels like a warning—or a test."
He turned toward her, the faint light of the setting sun catching his eyes. "Stay close to me, Lea. Until I figure out what we're dealing with, no wandering alone."
Lea nodded, though her curiosity pulled her toward every detail of the cabin. "It feels strange," she murmured, running her hand along the wall. "Like the air remembers."
Retro looked around one last time, the tension in his shoulders refusing to fade. "It does. The redwoods remember everything."
Outside, the wind shifted—gentle, but carrying something with it.
A faint whisper. A presence that neither of them could name.
And in the fading light, far beyond the trees, something unseen stirred.
Night came softly to the redwoods.
The sky beyond the canopy was fractured silver, moonlight dripping through the leaves like liquid glass. The cabin glowed faintly from within—small candles flickering against the worn walls, the scent of rain and moss mingling in the air.
Retro sat by the hearth, studying the strange sigils carved into the wood. The light from the fire danced across his face as he traced the markings with a gloved hand.
Retro (softly): "These symbols aren't demonic… but they're not human either."
Lea sat on the steps outside, watching the moonlight shift through the trees. The night was too quiet, almost reverent, as if the forest itself was listening.
She hugged her knees to her chest, lost in thought. "Dad says this place remembers things," she murmured. "But what if it remembers too much?"
The wind shifted.
A faint shimmer rippled through the clearing. The light bent slightly—like heat haze—before condensing into a shape at the edge of the porch.
Small. Barefoot. Cloaked in silver and shadow.
Lea blinked. "Hello?"
No answer. The figure tilted its head, its eyes like fogged glass catching the faint reflection of the moon. Hair drifted gently, as if it were underwater.
Lea stood slowly, her voice hesitant but calm. "Are you lost?"
The child blinked again, and when he finally spoke, his voice was like wind through reeds.
Lune: "You're the first to ask that in a long time."
Lea's ears twitched. "What do you mean?"
He didn't move closer—just lingered at the edge of the clearing, flickering slightly at the edges, half-there, half-not.
Lune: "This place remembers pain. I remember it too. You stirred the forest awake when you entered."
Lea took a cautious step forward, her curiosity outweighing her fear. "Who are you?"
He tilted his head again, the faintest smile ghosting across his translucent face.
Lune: "A witness. A whisper."
The words carried no malice—only a kind of sadness, weightless but ancient.
Behind them, Retro opened the door, his instincts immediately on edge. His spectral aura flickered faintly as he stepped onto the porch.
Retro: "Lea, get back."
Lune didn't flinch. Instead, his form shifted—his body dissolving into a faint swirl of silvery ash that drifted upward before reforming several feet away.
Lune: "I mean no harm. You've returned to a home that no longer belongs to the living. I only came to see which memory stirred the wind."
Retro's voice lowered, firm but calm. "You've been here before."
Lune: "I have been everywhere grief has taken root. I was here when this forest wept."
Lea's eyes softened. "When it wept?"
Lune nodded slowly. "The day this village vanished, its people didn't die—they simply… forgot themselves. I stayed to remember for them."
For a long moment, none of them spoke. The forest itself seemed to hum in rhythm with his words.
Then Retro lowered his hand slightly, his tone shifting from guarded to curious.
Retro: "You're not bound to this place, are you?"
Lune: "No. Time has no chains for me. I drift where sorrow calls."
Lea stepped closer, her voice small. "Then why here? Why now?"
Lune's glasslike eyes turned toward her, reflecting her face in a thousand fragmented pieces.
Lune: "Because someone will weep here again."
The fire from the cabin flickered violently, and the wind died completely.
Then, just as suddenly, Lune began to fade—his voice echoing softly as his body dissolved into moonlit dust.
> "Not yet… but soon."
The clearing fell silent once more.
Retro stood motionless, staring at the space where the spirit had been. His eyes hardened slightly.
Retro (quietly): "A warning, then."
Lea's voice trembled slightly, though she tried to sound steady.
Lea: "He didn't seem dangerous."
Retro shook his head.
Retro: "No. But whatever he's seen… will be."
The moon rose higher, casting pale light across the clearing. The forest around them whispered again—but this time, it sounded like a sigh.
And from somewhere far beyond the trees, the echo of that sigh answered back.
The cabin had gone quiet.
The kind of quiet that made every breath feel too loud, every heartbeat too heavy.
Outside, the forest whispered in strange, uneven rhythms. The redwoods creaked like they were murmuring to each other through the fog.
Lea sat on her bed, staring out the cracked window. Moonlight cut through the glass in fractured beams, casting silver lines across the floorboards. She hadn't spoken since the spirit boy vanished.
Lea (softly): "Do you think he's still out there?"
Retro was seated across the room, cleaning his spectral blade—though it was half-faded, humming faintly with residual energy. He didn't look up when he answered.
Retro: "Yeah. Spirits like that don't just disappear. They linger."
Lea frowned. "But why us? Why now?"
Retro finally glanced up. The firelight reflected faintly in his eyes, gold and green intermixing like dying embers.
Retro: "Because this place is full of echoes. And we just woke one up."
Lea's ears twitched slightly at that. She turned her gaze back to the window. The fog outside had thickened, pressing against the glass like a living thing.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time itself felt strange here—sluggish and inconsistent, like the redwoods were trying to hold the night still.
Retro leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly. "Try to get some sleep, kiddo. Tomorrow, we'll check the perimeter again."
Lea hesitated, then nodded, crawling under the thick blanket. The bed creaked faintly beneath her as she curled up, watching the flicker of the fire slowly fade.
Retro waited until her breathing slowed—steady, calm, peaceful—before he stood and walked to the door. The cold air hit him the moment he opened it.
Outside, the clearing was bathed in silver. The fog had thinned just enough for him to see the faint shimmer of light among the trees. Not firelight. Not starlight. Something else.
He stepped out slowly.
Each step made the grass hum faintly, disturbed by the faint pulse of mana in the ground. His gaze followed the faint trail of luminescence winding deeper into the forest—right where Lune had stood earlier that night.
And there it was again.
A faint figure, standing by the tree line. Small. Still. Watching.
Retro (quietly): "You again."
The figure tilted its head, just like before, but didn't speak. The air between them shimmered faintly with pressure—a kind of stillness that came before a storm.
Then, finally, a whisper.
Lune (faintly): "You should not stay here when the clock resets."
Retro froze. "The clock resets?"
The spirit flickered, the moonlight passing through him like smoke. His voice was fading, but the tone was heavier this time. Older.
Lune: "The forest doesn't forget its time. It remembers everything. And when it dreams… it starts again."
Retro's hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his spectral sword.
Retro: "Are you telling me we're in a loop?"
Lune blinked slowly, the glassy eyes unreadable.
Lune: "You are close to its heart. If you sleep too deeply, you will not wake in the same hour."
Before Retro could reply, the spirit dissolved—ash and light scattering into the fog.
The forest went still again.
Utterly still.
Retro stayed there for a long time, staring into the place where the child had vanished. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned back toward the cabin.
Inside, Lea was still asleep, her tail curled close to her body, peaceful in the dim light.
Retro sat at the edge of his bed, one hand on his face, the other gripping the hilt of his spectral weapon.
Retro (muttering): "Time loops, cursed relics, ghosts of sorrow… this world never learns to rest."
He looked at Lea once more.
A small smile crossed his face.
Retro: "At least you're still here, kiddo."
Then he lay down beside her, letting his eyes close at last. The night pressed in quietly—soft, heavy, and endless.
And somewhere deep in the forest, faint clockwork echoes began to tick.
The March of Time had started again.