They reached the front door and stood there for a moment. The house looked the same as Fate remembered—same paint, same steps, same small porch light that didn't always work. But now, it felt strangely empty, like a shell waiting to be filled.

Fate lifted their hand and tried the door.

It opened immediately.

No lock.

No resistance.

Just a quiet click and the door swung inward.

Inside, the hallway was dim but clear. Everything was in its place—shoes by the wall, a coat hanging, a small table with keys and mail. It all looked real, but the air felt light, almost hollow.

Fate stepped inside. The Dreamer followed.

"It feels normal," Fate said, "but also… not."

The Dreamer nodded. "Because it's a memory shaped into a space. It looks right, but it isn't fully alive."

They walked farther in. The living room appeared exactly as Fate remembered. The couch. The small TV. The carpet. Even the slight mess Fate used to leave around.

Fate moved through the room slowly, touching the back of a chair, running their fingers across the table. Everything felt real enough to touch—unlike the shop outside.

"So why is this place different?" Fate asked.

"Because this is the center," the Dreamer said. "Whatever brought you here wants you to look at something inside this home."

They continued into the hallway leading to the other rooms.

The first door opened to a bedroom—Fate's old room.

The bed was made, something Fate rarely did. The desk was clean, the window slightly open, letting in a faint breeze.

Fate walked in, staring at everything. "This isn't exactly how I left it. It's like someone cleaned it up."

"Or the memory cleaned itself," the Dreamer said. "Memories don't always show the mess."

Fate looked around the room again, but nothing stood out as unusual.

They moved to the next door.

A bathroom—empty.

Another room—also normal.

Then they reached the last door at the end of the hall.

Fate stopped. Their hand hovered above the knob.

"This one feels… different," Fate said. "Heavier."

The Dreamer waited quietly. "If this is where the truth is, it might not be comfortable."

Fate took a breath. "I know."

They grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open.

It wasn't a regular room.

Inside was another space—dark, with only a faint glow coming from somewhere deep within. The walls weren't solid. They looked like shadows moving slowly across each other.

"This isn't part of my house," Fate said.

"No," the Dreamer replied. "This is something deeper. Maybe a memory you never saw… or something you forgot."

Fate stepped inside.

The Dreamer followed, and the door behind them quietly closed.

Ahead, the faint glow grew brighter, shaping itself into a small spot of light in the center of the shadowed room.

Fate walked toward it.

As they got closer, the light stretched upward and formed a simple shape—

A chair.

And sitting in that chair was a figure.

Still. Silent. Head lowered.

Fate's voice dropped to a whisper. "Who… is that?"

The Dreamer didn't answer. They watched carefully.

Fate took a slow step closer.

The figure lifted their head.

And Fate's breath stopped.

It was them.

But older.

Tired.

Eyes dull, as if holding too many things at once.

Fate stared, unable to speak.

The Dreamer stepped beside them. "So this is the truth you were brought here to see."

Fate swallowed hard. "That's… me?"

The older version of Fate nodded once, slowly.

And then they spoke in a quiet, tired voice.

"You're finally here."

Fate felt their stomach twist. Hearing their own voice come from someone who looked so worn-down made their chest tighten.

The Dreamer stayed beside them, silent, waiting.

Fate took a small step closer. "Why… are you here? What is this place?"

Older Fate looked up fully now. Their expression wasn't angry or sad—just exhausted, like someone who had been waiting for a long time.

"This," the older version said slowly, "is the moment you never let yourself remember."

Fate frowned. "I don't understand."

"You do," Older Fate replied. "You just didn't want to."

The Dreamer stepped slightly forward. "What moment?"

Older Fate looked at Fate, not the Dreamer. "The moment everything ended."

Fate's breath caught. "Ended? What ended?"

Older Fate lifted a hand weakly and pointed to the shadows around them. "This room isn't a memory. It's the space you created when the real world became too much. You hid something here."

Fate shook their head. "No. I didn't hide anything. I don't remember doing that."

"That's the point," Older Fate said. "You forced yourself to forget."

The shadows around the chair shifted, pulling away like curtains. Behind them, something faint appeared—shapes, flashes, pieces of a moment Fate didn't recognize.

Fate stared at the blurry scene forming behind the older version of themselves. "What is that?"

Older Fate exhaled slowly, like letting out something that had been trapped for years.

"That," they said, "is the last thing you experienced before you arrived in the forest. The thing you've been avoiding."

The blurry shapes sharpened a little.

Lights.

Cold air.

Concrete.

A street very different from the peaceful one outside.

Fate felt their heart race. "I don't… remember this."

Older Fate nodded. "I know. You made sure you wouldn't."

The Dreamer looked at Fate softly. "Do you want to see it?"

Fate didn't answer right away. Their hands were shaking.

Older Fate watched them with calm, tired eyes. "You can turn away if you want. The truth won't force itself on you. But if you walk out now, you'll keep wandering. You'll never understand why you were brought to the forest… or why the path chose you."

Fate closed their eyes for a moment, breathing in unsteady breaths.

Then they opened them again.

"I'll look," Fate said quietly. "I want to know."

Older Fate nodded. "Then come closer."

Fate stepped toward the shifting scene behind the chair.

As they moved, the shadows pulled back more.

The shapes became clearer.

And piece by piece…

the last memory Fate had hidden from themselves

began to reveal itself.

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