"Ask. Is time both infinite and fleeting? Is it a river that shapes worlds yet slips through our grasp? Is perfection an illusion, for eternity is nothing but an unchanging prison? Is home is not found in permanence? But in fleeting moments, in familiar echoes of what was? Is belonging is not eternity—is it truly the recognition of something once lost? Is it the brief, precious feeling that time has paused just for us?"

---

The silence was the first thing she noticed.

Aetherion had never been quiet. Even at its deadliest hours, there was always something—distant shouts from the underbelly, flickering lanterns swinging in the wind, footsteps that belonged to either a lost soul or someone on the hunt. But now, there was nothing. The streets stretched empty, bathed in the silver glow of a moon too bright, too still. The cobblestones beneath her bare feet were cold, each step sending a strange unease up her spine.

Juno exhaled, her breath curling in the frigid air. This wasn't real. She knew it. Something had wrenched her out of that hellish place—the ravine, the reflections, the hunt—and deposited her here, back in Aetherion. But why? And more importantly…

She turned in a slow circle, scanning the alleyways, the looming spires in the distance, the darkened windows of the homes stacked upon one another like a precarious maze.

"Selene?" Her voice barely echoed. "Exos?"

Nothing.

She tried again, louder. Still, nothing. The silence pressed against her ears, thick and unnatural.

Her stomach twisted. She had walked these streets before—had run them, starved in them, bled on them. But there was something… wrong. The air felt heavier, like she was treading through a memory not quite her own. The sky was the wrong shade of indigo, too sharp, too deep. The stars didn't flicker. The wind didn't move the tattered banners that hung from the old market stalls. And when she looked at the corners of the buildings, they didn't feel… solid.

She pressed a hand to her temple, inhaling shakily. Her system was still offline. No updates, no status check, no glitches—just an overwhelming void in her mind where the constant, stuttering alerts had once been.

"Alright," she muttered to herself, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Think. This is either a memory, a trap, or I've finally lost what's left of my mind."

She needed to move. Standing still made her feel like she was sinking, like the ground might open beneath her at any second. She started forward, her pace cautious, scanning the roads for anything—anyone.

Then, she saw them.

Two figures at the end of the street.

Juno's breath hitched.

A man and a woman.

They stood beneath the eerie glow of an old streetlamp, their faces shadowed yet… familiar. Too familiar. The moment their eyes locked with hers, she felt something inside her lurch—like a string in her chest had been pulled too tight.

The woman let out a breathless sob, her hands covering her mouth. The man took a staggering step forward, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something so raw, so disbelieving, that Juno felt her throat go dry.

And then, the woman spoke.

"Juno?"

Juno froze.

The woman stepped closer, hesitant, as if afraid she might disappear if she moved too quickly. "Juno… it's you. It's really you."

Juno took a step back. Her instincts screamed at her to run. To bolt in the opposite direction, to find an alleyway to slip into, to disappear like she always had when faced with something she didn't understand. But her body betrayed her. She stayed rooted, watching as the woman trembled, her lips quivering with something between joy and grief.

The man—taller, with streaks of gray in his dark hair—wasn't crying, but his hands were clenched at his sides, as if he was forcing himself to stay still.

"Where have you been?" His voice was rough, hoarse. "We've been looking for you for so long."

Juno's pulse pounded in her ears. No. No, that wasn't right. It couldn't be.

"I—" Her mouth felt like it was full of sand. "I don't—"

The woman surged forward, arms wrapping around her before Juno could react. Warm. She was warm. Too warm, too real. Juno's entire body locked up, her hands twitching at her sides, unsure if she should push her away or let her stay.

"You're home," the woman whispered into her hair. "You're finally home."

Juno's breath shuddered out of her. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

Because she was an orphan. She had always been an orphan.

Hadn't she?

But the way this woman held her, the way the man's eyes shone under the streetlight, the way her own heartbeat ached in her chest—it all felt too real. Too cruel.

She didn't fight when they led her away. She didn't struggle as they guided her through the winding streets of Aetherion, past familiar shops and buildings that felt like echoes of a life she had never lived. She didn't argue when they took her to a house—a home—and told her she was safe now.

She just let it happen.

Because for the first time in her life, someone had called her their daughter. And some foolish, broken part of her wanted—needed—to believe it was true.

The house they led her to was nestled between two taller buildings, its wooden door carved with swirling patterns, worn but cared for. Inside, the air smelled of something familiar, something warm—spiced tea, old parchment, the lingering scent of a hearth that had been burning for years. She barely noticed as they sat her down, as hands pressed against her shoulders, as a blanket was draped around her.

"You must be exhausted," the woman murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Juno's face. "We'll talk in the morning, alright? You need rest."

Juno opened her mouth to protest, to demand answers—but found herself nodding instead. She was tired. So, so tired.

She let them guide her to a room. A bed. Soft sheets, a pillow that smelled like home—a home she had never known.

Juno laid down, staring at the ceiling.

Something wasn't right.

And yet, for the first time in longer than she could remember, she let her eyes close.

---

[MESSAGE ACCE-

FORCED PERMISSION HAS BEEN-

THE-]

What is happening?

[INTRUDING MESSAGE INITIA-

ERROR-

RE-INITIALIZING]

I'm too sleepy for this.

[Access allowed.]

The darkness was expected.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

For the night meet its end.

For the beginning meet its light.

But the balance is not there anymore.

As the beginning and end is non-existent.

With such concept, how does life matter?

Isn't it too bright?

I hope you see things again soon, Juno.

[RE-INITIALIZING FORCED REWIN-

SYSTEM OVERRIDE.

INITIALIZING FORCED RESTA-

ERROR.

SHUTTING DOWN]

---

The first thing Juno felt was warmth.

Not the oppressive, suffocating heat of battle, not the sticky warmth of blood trickling down her skin. No, this was something different. This was the gentle embrace of sunlight filtering through a window, painting golden patterns on soft sheets. This was the weight of a thick, woolen blanket tucked carefully around her, the kind that smelled faintly of lavender and home. This was the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air, mingling with something sweet—honey, perhaps—and the distant sound of birds singing outside.

Home.

The word drifted through her mind, foreign and yet… right. Juno stirred, her fingers twitching against the fabric beneath her. It wasn't rough stone or damp earth. It wasn't the cold, unfeeling surface of a battlefield. It was a bed. A real bed. She let out a slow breath, feeling the way her chest rose and fell, steady and calm. No wounds, no aches, no heavy exhaustion clawing at the edges of her mind.

For a moment, she simply lay there, reveling in the sheer, impossible peace of it all.

Then, she opened her eyes.

Sunlight streamed in through a wide window, illuminating the small room in a golden glow. The walls were lined with shelves, stacked with books of all sizes and colors, some old and worn, others new and well-kept. A wooden dresser stood against the wall, atop it a collection of small trinkets—tiny glass figurines, a delicate silver watch, a scattering of pressed flowers laid carefully on a cloth. The air smelled of warmth and comfort, of a home well-lived in.

Juno blinked slowly. This… was hers. Or at least, it felt like it was. She sat up, the blanket sliding off her shoulders, and rubbed at her face. Her fingers brushed against something smooth—her skin, unmarked, free of scars. Her body felt… different. Lighter. As if the weight she had carried for so long had been stripped away.

The sound of footsteps outside the door made her head snap up.

A gentle knock.

"Juno?" A woman's voice—warm, familiar—filtered through the wood. "Are you awake, dear?"

Juno's breath hitched. That voice.

Before she could even think, the door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. She had kind eyes, dark hair pulled into a loose braid, and a soft smile that made something in Juno's chest ache. Behind her, a man followed, tall and broad-shouldered, with streaks of gray in his otherwise dark hair, his face lined with the marks of time but filled with an emotion Juno couldn't quite place.

"Look at you," the woman whispered, stepping closer, her hands hesitantly hovering near Juno's face, as if afraid she might vanish if touched. "You're awake."

Juno swallowed. "I—"

Her voice felt strange. Too young, too untouched by the horrors she had endured. She cleared her throat. "Yes. I… am."

The man exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face as he let out something between a relieved sigh and a choked laugh. "You had us worried," he murmured. "But you're here now."

The woman reached for Juno's hand, clasping it between her own. "Come, sweetheart. Breakfast is ready."

Juno hesitated.

Some part of her screamed that this wasn't real. That this was wrong. But another part—a fragile, trembling part buried deep inside—wanted to believe.

So she nodded.

The morning passed in a blur of warmth and laughter.

Her mother—her mother—fussed over her hair, scolding her lightly for always running off without brushing it. Her father handed her a plate stacked high with food, ruffling her hair as he told her to eat up because she'd always been too small for her own good. They spoke of mundane things—the neighbors, the upcoming festival, a stray cat that had taken to sleeping by their doorstep.

Juno responded when expected, smiled when prompted, laughed when they laughed.

And for a while, she let herself believe.

She let herself bask in the feeling of a home she had never known, of a love she had never been given. She let herself be a daughter. Just a daughter.

They spent the afternoon together. Her mother took her to the market, where the streets were filled with people, laughter, and the scent of freshly baked pastries. Her father bought her a trinket from a street vendor—a small, carved bird made of wood. They walked through the town, her mother's arm looped through hers, her father walking beside them, watching over them with a quiet kind of pride.

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

Juno didn't realize how deep the feeling of unease had rooted itself in her until she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling.

Something was wrong.

She couldn't name it, couldn't grasp it fully, but it was there. A whisper at the back of her mind, a nagging sensation that she was forgetting something. Something important.

She turned onto her side, curling beneath the blankets, but sleep didn't come. The unease only grew.

What was it?

What was she forgetting?

Her fingers curled into the sheets. After all of this, after all the happiness, the love, the warmth—

What was next?

What was the meaning of it all?

What worth could a beautiful eternity hold?

And then, the thought struck her like a blade to the gut.

What was I doing here again?

Her breath hitched.

The room suddenly felt colder. The shadows stretched a little too far. The silence pressed against her ears like a suffocating weight.

Juno sat up, her pulse quickening.

This wasn't real.

This wasn't real.

But if it wasn't real—

Then what was?

But how can she ponder such intangible things when the night seems to be calling her rest?

---

The first sound she heard was a soft, distant crack.

Juno barely registered it. Half-asleep, her mind discarded it as the house settling, a branch outside shifting in the wind, something insignificant. She curled deeper beneath the blankets, the warmth of her bed wrapping around her like a second skin. The scent of cinnamon and morning tea drifted in from the kitchen, wrapping her senses in familiarity, in comfort.

Morning.

She stretched beneath the covers, eyes fluttering open. A golden stream of sunlight bled through the lace curtains, painting the wooden floor in warm patterns. The quilt over her was thick, heavy in a way that made her want to sink into it and never move again. Her limbs felt lighter today, as if yesterday's exhaustion had been washed away overnight. Yesterday...

Her brows furrowed.

What had she done yesterday?

The thought slipped from her grasp the moment she tried to hold onto it. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. It didn't matter. Today was another beautiful day, and her parents would be waiting.

The house was alive with quiet sounds. The clink of plates, the soft shuffle of footsteps, the rustling of newspapers. As she padded into the kitchen, the scent of warm bread and spiced butter enveloped her. Her mother stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot, while her father sat at the table, sipping tea and reading a paper.

"There's my sleepy girl," her mother said, smiling as she turned. "We thought we'd have to send a search party."

Juno let out a small, breathy laugh, the warmth in her chest expanding. "I must've been tired."

"Sit, eat," her father said, gesturing toward the plate already set for her. Freshly toasted bread, a smear of honey, and a warm cup of milk. "You've got a busy day ahead."

A busy day? That felt... right, but also strange. As if she should be questioning it. But why would she? This was home. Her home. Aetherion had always been home.

Hadn't it?

She shook off the stray thought and ate, savoring every bite. The day passed in a seamless blur of routine—helping her mother with errands, reading by the fire, listening to her father's quiet stories about the city beyond their home. Every moment was perfect. Every second felt so effortlessly right.

And yet, as night fell, a peculiar unease settled in her stomach.

A question, fragile and half-formed, whispered in the back of her mind.

What had she done yesterday?

The answer refused to come. It slipped between her fingers like grains of sand, dissolving the moment she tried to grasp it. But that wasn't important. It wasn't. She was happy here. She had everything. Didn't she?

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Something felt... unsteady. As if there was a crack in her world, so fine she could barely see it, but she could feel it there, spreading beneath the surface.

Sleep came slowly, restless and dreamless.

Hours later, she woke with an odd weight pressing on her chest. A sensation of something unseen, something just beyond reach. The house was quiet, the golden glow of the lanterns flickering gently in the halls. She rose, feet barely making a sound as she walked.

The air had changed.

The warmth was still there, but it felt... artificial. A veneer stretched too tightly over something hollow. The house, for the first time, felt unfamiliar.

She moved without thinking, feet carrying her down the hall, past the pictures that lined the walls—photos of her, of her family, of memories she should have cherished. But her hands trembled as she brushed over them.

The edges of the frames felt... smooth. Too smooth.

As if they weren't real.

Juno inhaled sharply, turning away, seeking something—anything—to ground herself. And then she found herself in the bathroom, standing before the mirror.

Her reflection stared back.

For a long moment, everything was fine.

Then the light above flickered.

Juno's breath hitched. Her reflection didn't move.

She blinked rapidly, gripping the edges of the sink, heart pounding against her ribs. No. No, she was imagining it. The light wavered again, and this time, the reflection shifted.

Not much. Just a little. A fraction of a second too slow, as if it were struggling to keep up.

Her throat went dry. The warmth in the air felt stifling now, suffocating. She couldn't hear the sounds of her parents anymore. Just her own breathing, loud and uneven.

She lifted a hand. The reflection followed.

She turned her head slightly. The reflection followed.

She exhaled shakily. "Okay," she whispered to herself. "I'm just tired. Just—"

The reflection smiled.

Juno's breath stopped.

She hadn't smiled.

The face in the mirror tilted its head, amusement flickering in its golden-green eyes. Her own eyes. And yet, something was wrong. The skin looked... too smooth. Too flawless. Like porcelain stretched over bone.

Juno took a step back.

The reflection didn't.

Her stomach turned to ice. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to move, to run, to get out of this house, to get away from whatever was standing in the mirror pretending to be her.

But she couldn't.

Because as the reflection's lips parted, as it leaned forward slightly, as its voice—her voice—whispered something too low to hear, Juno finally understood what had been wrong all along.

This wasn't her home.

If it wasn't, then where is home?

What is home?

[Wake.

For when reality welcomes you.

For when time waits for you.

For when the system fixes itself.

For when the world embraces you.

For when your friends sees you.

For when everything is true.

Wake.]