The forest wasn't just quiet. It was wrong.
No birds. No breeze. Not even the sound of her own footsteps felt real anymore.
Ayla slowed, boots crunching on damp leaves, the mist curling like fingers around her ankles. Callie, Marcus, and Lila followed behind her—but even their presence felt distant. Dull. Muted. Like the world had hit pause.
Then it came.
A giggle. Small. Soft. Like a child.
Ayla froze.
The sound didn't come from one place. It slipped between the trees, curled around her bones, and settled somewhere deep inside her chest.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered.
"Hear what?" Marcus asked.
"A laugh. A girl's laugh. She said…" Ayla swallowed. "She called me mother."
Callie gave a nervous laugh, like she was trying to break the tension. "That's creepy."
"There's no one there, Ayla," Lila added gently.
But Ayla was already moving.
The mist thickened with every step she took, swallowing her friends' voices, their shapes, the world she knew. The trees stretched taller. Older. The air shifted. Time blurred.
Then she saw her.
A child. Standing still in a clearing between two trees.
Barefoot. Dressed in white. Her hair was long and black, falling over her shoulders like ink. Too clean for the mud. Too still for a living thing.
And her eyes—gray, wide, unblinking.
"Mother."
One word. Soft. Echoed like thunder.
Ayla's heart cracked.
She didn't know this child. Didn't remember her. But something deep inside twisted, like a memory that had been buried too long.
The ring on her finger pulsed. Warm. Alive.
"I'm not your mother," Ayla said, but it didn't sound right. Even to her.
The girl tilted her head.
"Elira," she said.
That name hit like a blade.
Ayla staggered back. Pain flared behind her eyes. Her knees buckled. The forest spun. She hit the ground hard, moss against her skin, blood in her mouth. Her vision split—white, then black, then both.
"Elira," the child said again.
Not just her. Voices. Dozens of them. Hundreds.
All whispering. Crying. Screaming.
The name roared through her head like a storm. It wasn't just a name. It was a key.
And it was hers.
The pain crested. Ayla tried to scream, but nothing came out.
Then—crack.
The forest screamed for her. A sharp, deafening sound that shook the trees.
And then, silence.
She blinked.
Color returned. The ringing in her ears faded. She was still lying on the forest floor, nose bleeding, hands trembling. The child was gone. No footprints. No sign she'd ever been there.
Just the name.
"Elira…" she whispered.
And then—footsteps.
Callie knelt beside her. "You scared the hell out of us. You disappeared."
"I'm okay," Ayla croaked. "Just… dizzy."
"You're bleeding," Marcus said, crouching close.
"We need to rest," Lila said.
"No." Ayla shook her head. "We're close."
"Close to what?"
Ayla touched the ring. It was still pulsing.
"I saw her. The child. She said a name. Elira. And I think…" Her voice faltered. "I think it's me."
They stared at her.
"Ayla—" Callie started.
"No. Let me finish. That name… it hurt. But it also felt right. Like something I forgot. Like a scar I didn't know I had."
Lila stood. "Then let's find out what it means."
Ayla nodded.
And they walked.
The trees whispered. Shadows shifted. But something had changed. The forest wasn't just testing them now. It was showing her.
Elira.
That name wasn't just a ghost.
It was her.
By the time they reached the edge of the woods, the light had softened. The sun bled gold through the trees.
She looked at her friends—Callie's fierce concern, Marcus's steady presence, Lila's quiet strength—and something inside her steadied.
She had no idea what waited ahead.
But she wasn't afraid.
She wasn't just Ayla anymore.
She was Elira.
Whoever that truly was.
And she was ready to remember.