The afternoon rested at its brightest hour, when the sun seemed to linger rather than pass. Light spilled generously across rolling emerald hills, touching the land with a warmth that felt almost intentional. Snow-dusted peaks rose in the distance, calm and eternal, while valleys breathed quietly below, meadows stitched together with wildflowers, streams whispering as they traced silver lines through the grass. The air was clean, fragrant with pine and earth, and so still that even time appeared to move more gently here.
Tucked between the hills stood a small house, humble in size yet unmistakably beautiful. Its stone walls were softened by climbing ivy, its wooden beams worn smooth by years of wind and sun. A single chimney curved slightly, as if bowing to the mountains that guarded it. This was the kind of home often found in old tales, a place meant not for grandeur, but for peace.
Inside, sunlight filtered through narrow windows, painting warm patterns across the floor. There, resting in quiet solitude, lay a man of rare beauty.
He sat by the window, a letter held loosely in his hands. His jet-black hair was cut relatively short, neat but soft, catching the light as he tilted his head to read. With an absent motion he ran his fingers through it, eyes deep and dark, reflective as still water at night, framed by thick lashes that cast faint crescents upon his cheeks. A tall, elegant nose lent his face a quiet, noble balance.
"Perfect." he said softly as he closed the letter.
Elsewhere in the room, the quiet shifted.
Her eyelids fluttered first, barely noticeable, as though testing the weight of consciousness. Fingers twitched next, slow and uncertain, curling slightly against the fabric beneath her. Breath deepened. The body, long surrendered to rest, began its careful return to the waking world. A soft furrow touched her brow, the subtle confusion that follows a long slumber settling in. She stirred again, more deliberately this time, stretching faintly as awareness crept back into her limbs.
Her eyes opened at last, not all at once, but gradually adjusting to the light, to the warmth, to the familiar silence of the room. For a moment, she remained still, suspended between sleep and memory, before the world fully claimed her again.
Peace lingered in the air, unbroken.
But that peace did not last.
It shattered the moment awareness fully settled in.
Something was wrong.
Her gaze shifted, slow at first, then sharper, walls, ceiling, the angle of the light. This was not her room. The space felt unfamiliar, foreign in ways she could not immediately name. The warmth that had comforted her seconds ago now pressed too close. Panic bloomed suddenly, rushing through her chest and rising to her face. Her breath hitched; her fingers curled tightly against the sheets as if grounding herself might anchor the world back into place.
What happened?
She tried to remember. Forced her mind backward, past the moment of waking, past the dark silence before it. Pain answered her instead. A sharp, splitting ache surged behind her eyes, as though her skull might crack under the strain. She gasped, clutching her head, vision blurring.
No. No... don't.
The harder she pushed, the worse it became, like clawing at a locked door that refused to open. Panic and anxiety swelled, unmistakable now. Her thoughts spiraled, frantic and broken.
Why can't I remember?
Why… why… why?
Her breathing turned shallow. The room felt smaller.
She closed her eyes and inhaled, slowly, deliberately. Then exhaled. Again. And again. She focused only on the rhythm, on the simple act of drawing air into her lungs and letting it go. This was not new. Whenever she was alone, whenever fear crept too close, she did this. It never erased the anxiety, never truly silenced it but it steadied her enough to move forward.
Think logically, she told herself. Panicking won't help.
When she opened her eyes again, the ache had dulled to a distant throb. Carefully, she rose and began to explore the room. It was modest, neatly kept, touched by sunlight spilling through a wide glass window. She stepped closer and froze.
Beyond the glass stretched the same breathtaking landscape. Rolling green hills, distant mountains crowned with snow, the world bathed in golden afternoon light.
"Wowww," she breathed, the word slipping out before she could stop it.
For a brief moment, wonder pushed aside fear.
Then she noticed the letter.
It lay neatly on a small wooden table beside the window, as though placed there with intention. Her excitement faltered, replaced by unease. Slowly, she approached it, every step measured. She hesitated before touching it, a quiet dread curling in her chest afraid of what it might say, of what it might reveal.
With careful fingers, she picked it up.
The paper felt real. Heavy.
She swallowed, then slowly unfolded it.
She read the letter.
The world we knew is gone now, Riri.
Everything has changed. War has become something ordinary, and every day I see blood.
Her fingers stiffened around the paper.
Your mother is doing okay—don't worry. I left her in my mom and dad's care. You know my parents… they're absurdly rich. They hired bodyguards to keep her protected, far away from harm.
"What?" she whispered.
Her chest tightened. Riri.
Her name was Ira. Always had been. The name felt right. And yet, hearing it now felt strangely distant. And there was only one person in the world who ever called her Riri.
Azari.
Confusion washed over her, thick and disorienting. Why would he write to her? And war... what war? The words pressed down on her mind, heavy and unreal, each sentence opening questions she had no answers for. Dread crept in alongside the confusion, cold and persistent, because nothing, nothing was making sense.
She forced herself to continue reading.
Riri… I don't know where I am... no, I don't know where we are. But rest assured, I will find a way to fix this. I promise that by the time you wake up again, everything will be fine.
Her breath caught.
For now, please do not forget. Even if it hurts, push through it. Do not run away from what happens.
The letter trembled in her hands.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, each beat echoing the same thought over and over. Wake up again. As if this wasn't the first time. As if she had done this before.
Her head began to ache once more but not sharp like before, but deep, throbbing, warning her not to dig too far. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the letter to her chest, breathing in and out until the room steadied.
Azari was alive.
There was a war.
She had been asleep longer than she realized.
And whatever she had forgotten…
It wasn't gone.
It was waiting.
Then without warning pain bloomed in her chest.
It was sudden, violent, as if something had clenched around her heart and squeezed. She gasped, fingers digging into the fabric over her chest, confusion flashing through her mind. She didn't understand what was happening no memory, no explanation but instinct screamed louder than reason.
Sleep.
The certainty hit her with terrifying clarity. If she didn't lie down, if she didn't sleep, she would die.
"I need… to go to bed," she whispered, the words breaking as they left her lips.
She turned toward the bed, but every step was agony. Her legs felt heavy, unresponsive, as though she were moving through water thick with pain. Each heartbeat sent another wave of fire through her chest. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room darkening as her strength bled away.
Just a little farther.
She reached out but her body gave up before she could reach the bed.
She collapsed to the floor, the impact distant, dull. Darkness crept in from the corners of her sight, slow and inevitable. Sleep pressed down on her like a tide, dragging her under. Her eyelids fluttered, growing heavier with each breath.
As she surrendered, the pain in her chest began to fade, loosening its grip, retreating into a dull echo.
Somewhere beneath the fog, she knew this was wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
But the sleepiness smothered her thoughts, muffling logic, silencing fear. She no longer had the strength to question, to resist.
There was only one thing left that she wanted.
To sleep.
And so she did.