The wind carried an eerie chill, numbing Varo's skin with a shiver that he couldn't quite shake. The wane light of the setting sun filtered through the dense canopy of towering trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The trees stretched as far as his eyes could see, filling the landscape with an almost overwhelming sense of isolation. His heart felt as empty as the vast woods around him.

As he wandered, he noticed a glint of water nearby. Drawn to it, he stumbled to the bank of a crystal-clear creek, the sound of gentle ripples a stark contrast to the noise inside his head. He bowed to drink, cupping his hands to scoop the cool water to his lips. But as did he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the creek, he paused.

"What the hell's going on?" he muttered, staring at the face in the water.

He let out a soft chuckle, which quickly escalated into a manic guffaw before it died in his throat. Silence followed—so complete that it felt as if the entire forest was holding its breath. Was this real? Or some twisted dream?

Scanning his surroundings, he noticed an odd patch of flora nearby. The leaves emitted a faint blue glow, strange and entrancing. He wasn't a botanist, but his curiosity took over. Kneeling beside it, he plucked a leaf and brought it to his nose, inhaling a sharp, citrusy fragrance. The glowing powder left a brittle residue on his fingertips, forming a paste that caught his attention.

'Taste it,' an intrusive thought whispered.

He extended his tongue, a moment's breath from dabbing the powder on it, when a sudden snap of a twig made him turn. Standing just a few feet away was a slender woman. Her appearance was surreal in the twilight—she had soft blonde hair, tired eyes, and a simple yet elegant gown that seemed to capture the dusky light. She held a small purse close to her side, her presence both delicate and commanding.

"You shouldn't eat that," she said gently.

Varo's eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing on his lips. "And you should mind your own business."

The woman's expression softened, though her gaze remained steady. "As a nurse, I can't watch you harm yourself," she replied, taking a cautious step forward.

Varo rolled his eyes but found himself strangely compliant. He watched her with a mix of defiance and curiosity as she approached, her gaze unwavering. Without another word, she reached out and took his hand in hers, her touch warm in contrast to the chill in the air.

"Hands in the water," she instructed, guiding his hands back to the creek's edge. As his fingers dipped into the icy water, he felt a sharp sting, like tiny needles piercing his skin, yet he didn't pull away.

She quietly took the glowing plant from him, slipping it into her purse before returning her attention to him. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around him. He tensed, but her embrace was... comforting, soothing in a way he couldn't explain.

When she let go, she looked at him with soft yet determined eyes. "Life is precious, even when it feels like it's slipping away. Please don't throw it away." Her voice trembled slightly, and for a moment, he saw the weight of her words reflected in her gaze.

A surge of confusion rippled through him. "What's real and what isn't?"

She smiled sadly, wiping a tear from her cheek. "If you ever feel lost, know that you can run to me," she whispered, her grip on his hands tightening.

He stared at her, his mind spinning, but she only offered him a reassuring nod. Her gown's warm, earthy tones seemed to glow softly against the dusky sky, while his ragged, mud-stained tunic and breeches seemed even more out of place. The evening air filled with the soft hum of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl as night began to settle around them.

Breaking the silence, she took a small step back, her expression shifting from gentle to serious. "I'll acquire you from your master, no matter the price."

"Huh? My what?" Varo's head jerked back, a humorless laugh bubbling up. He shook his head, trying to keep his composure. 'This has to be some sick joke.'

Noticing his reaction, the woman looked puzzled, her brow furrowing. "I'm sorry if I misread your situation. I thought… well, many slaves come here to end their misery."

"Wait… what?!" His voice rose, confusion deepening. "Look, I'm not—"

She cut him off, her expression now more somber as she pointed at his side. "Then why do you bear a slave's mark?"

Following her gaze, Varo lifted his tunic to reveal a small tattooed emblem just above his pelvis—a symbol he didn't recognize, two letters intertwined, HS, encircled by fine chains. His heart sank as he stared at it, an icy dread settling in his gut.

She studied him with a mixture of curiosity and pity. "You… you really don't know where you are, do you?"

He opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. Did he even know? Images of cold snow, endless white, and a hollow ache in his chest flickered through his mind. "I remember snow," he whispered, "and I remember being so cold I thought I'd die."

"Is that all?"

He nodded helplessly. A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the soft ticking of a pocket watch she pulled from her purse. She plucked a flower, absently tearing off its petals one by one, her gaze distant.

After a long pause, she looked up, her tone thoughtful. "It's the start of spring now, so that memory doesn't quite add up."

Varo felt his mind reel with confusion. Her voice pulled him back to reality as she leaned close, her eyes locking onto his.

"Take off your tunic," she said softly.

"My… my shirt?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.

She nodded, her expression almost playful. "Yes, don't be shy."

He swallowed, feeling his face heat up as he obeyed, pulling the garment over his head. She inspected the mark more closely, tracing it lightly with her fingertips.

"A slave's mark," she murmured. "You're likely a runaway… or worse, a forgotten one."

Varo shuddered, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. The reality of his situation—whatever it was—sank in with an almost crushing intensity. Fireflies blinked around them, their gentle light a stark contrast to the turmoil in his heart.

She gave him a sad smile. "Where are my manners? I'm Leora Lampros, by the way. And you are?"

"Varo," he replied, his voice barely audible.

She raised a brow. "Well, that's convenient. You remember your name… and nothing else?"

The corner of his mouth twitched with a slight smirk. "Apparently."

Leora sighed, glancing at the darkening forest. "Come with me. I'll help you sort this out."

He hesitated, her words tumbling through his mind. Part of him wanted to refuse, but he had nowhere else to go.

She offered him a gentle smile, then turned, slipping into the shadows of the forest. Varo watched her for a moment, his thoughts racing.

"Wait!" he called, finally making up his mind and running after her, his breath heavy in the cool night air.

Leora glanced over her shoulder with a wink. As she faded further away, Varo pushed forward, trying his hardest to keep up with the nimble nurse.

They darted over felled trees and through the tall grass. The moss-damp land was slippery and fun to tread. Fireflies drifted among the sparkles of the starry night, lighting up the path. Nostalgic—almost like a childhood memory.

The beautiful scenery distracted Varo from his worries, even though they loomed at the back of his mind. His racing heart, the grasses that tickled his ankles, each firefly that flickered past, and the thuds after each leap over a puddle were too real and beautiful. What is this place? Why a slave? His little heart couldn't help but thrum with excitement.

'I'll survive this and have fun,' he declared.

Varo trudged up the small hill, where Leora was already waiting. He was panting heavily, his heels stinging with soreness. But Leora stood there without breaking a sweat, as if she hadn't run at all.

Leora glanced at the old bench, then turned to Varo. "We'll have to wait a bit for the train. Go ahead and sit—I'll get the tickets," she said.

She walked over to a small pole with a set of metal keys and started pressing buttons. After a few clicks on the dashboard, two tickets printed out.

"What year is this?" Varo asked, watching her.

Leora smiled. "3025 CE. The era of the Seventh Rhythm."

He sighed; her answer made no sense. "And… what does 'CE' mean?"

"Cataclysmic Event," she replied, taking a seat beside him.

They sat in silence for a moment as Varo glanced down the tracks, hoping to see the train in the distance. "So, how early are we again?"

Leora checked her clockwork device. She chuckled, "Nineteen minutes and forty-eight seconds. We are going to be here for a while."

"Thank you, I really appreciate your help."