Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world was a blur.

Pathfinder felt the weight of his body pressing into something soft but unsteady—earth, dirt, leaves. He blinked his eyes open slowly, the sunlight cutting through the treetops above, casting long, spindly shadows across the forest floor. There was a strange stillness in the air, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the trees. His heart thudded in his chest as confusion swept over him like a cold gust.

Where was he?

He struggled to sit up, his legs sore from the hard ground he’d apparently been lying on for a while. No memories. Nothing. Not even a faint hint of recognition for the world around him.

Panic began to creep into his mind as he scanned his surroundings. Tall trees—ancient, their trunks thick and gnarled, their branches heavy with green. A forest. The ground was uneven, dotted with roots and rocks that jutted out like the bones of the earth itself. There was no sign of civilization here, no signs that anyone else had ever been through this place. He glanced around—nothing but dense foliage, shadows, and the distant calls of unseen creatures. The air was damp and smelled of moss and wildflowers.

He could feel it. The emptiness. Like he was supposed to know something. Who am I? was the first thought to form in his mind.

Shaking the sense of panic off, he stood up carefully, his legs wobbling beneath him. His hands—hands that felt like his—moved instinctively as they brushed dirt from his tunic, feeling around the fabric for anything useful. There was a strange tool belt fastened around his waist, a small blade sheathed on his side. The weight of the blade was comforting in a way he couldn’t quite place.

What was this for?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. The more he tried to focus on his past, the more the void felt overwhelming. The void of who he was. His head throbbed with an ache as though there should be something—someone—there, something to cling to. Yet, all that remained was the empty space in his mind. A quiet void.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath.

It was survival instinct now—nothing more. If there was one thing he could rely on, it was the need to survive. To find food, shelter, and safety. He took a deep breath and looked around the clearing where he had awoken, as if expecting some kind of clue to appear out of thin air. His instincts told him to keep moving—always forward, never looking back.

As he started walking through the underbrush, he barely noticed how easy it felt to navigate the wild terrain, how naturally his feet found their way over roots and rocks. His hands brushed against the trees, and he felt a strange sense of recognition in the motion, even if the memories didn’t follow.

What was that?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and instinct told him something wasn’t right. He froze mid-step, listening carefully. The sound of leaves rustling. Something moving through the brush. His heart rate quickened, his hand going instinctively for the blade at his side.

A shadow moved. He caught sight of a silhouette at the edge of the clearing. Someone—or something—was watching him.

With a silent breath, Pathfinder crouched down, blending into the surrounding foliage, his eyes narrowing as he studied the figure ahead. Was it friend or foe?

The figure moved closer—silent, stealthy. A human. A woman.

His breath caught for a moment, wondering if she, too, had lost her memory like he had. Maybe she knew more about this strange, wild place. He didn’t know what to expect, but the only thing he could do was wait.

The woman moved closer, and in a moment of impulse, Pathfinder stood from his crouch, stepping into her path. “Hey!” His voice broke through the tense silence of the forest. “Who are you?”

The woman froze.

Her eyes locked with his—clear, piercing. She was tall, with blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, wearing rugged gear. Her hands were already moving toward something—a weapon. The tension between them was immediate, like two wild animals sizing each other up.

Pathfinder’s heart raced. He wasn’t used to confrontation, especially with no memory of who he was or what he was capable of.

She spoke first, her voice sharp but calm. “Who are you?” Her gaze darted to his weapon, and then back up to his face.

Pathfinder swallowed. “I—I don’t know.” His voice sounded almost as uncertain as he felt. “I don’t remember anything. Just... woke up here.”

The woman’s expression softened just slightly, though she didn’t lower her guard. “You’re not the first. I woke up here too.” She stepped closer, lowering her weapon ever so slightly, but still keeping a careful distance. “This forest... it’s not natural.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” he said with a weak laugh, gesturing to the dense trees and wild underbrush that seemed to go on forever.

A pause stretched between them, and then she spoke again. “Where are you headed?”

“I don’t know. I just—” He gestured aimlessly. “I’m trying to survive…”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Same here. It’s not safe to be alone out here.”

“Do you—do you know anything about this place?” He asked, hope rising in his chest. Maybe she knew something he didn’t.

She shook her head. “Not much. Just... that I need to keep moving.” She eyed him for a moment, seeming to measure whether he could be trusted. “You’re welcome to travel with me if you want. It’s better than being alone.”

Pathfinder nodded quickly. The thought of being alone in this strange world was unbearable. Anything was better than that.

“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

They moved through the forest together, side by side. Pathfinder couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, this woman was the first person he’d met who didn’t seem as lost as he felt. She seemed capable, even if they both didn’t know what was coming next.

As they traveled, Pathfinder couldn’t help but notice how the wilds were both dangerous and beautiful. Strange sounds echoed from the trees, and the wind carried whispers of things unknown. Every now and then, they’d catch glimpses of creatures—beasts both ferocious and mesmerizing, but none of them seemed to notice their presence. It was as if the forest was alive, watching them.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they arrived at a small clearing. The trees parted to reveal a stone structure, weathered by time but still standing strong. The walls were covered in vines, and what looked like old ruins marked the edges of the area. There was a sense of peace in the clearing—something almost otherworldly.

“This is it,” the woman said, stopping and turning to face him. “This is where I’ve been staying.”

Pathfinder stood still, eyeing the place curiously. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. It was shelter. It was something.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I think... I think this will do.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she warned, her voice low and serious. “It’s dangerous for anyone to be out there alone.”

He nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. But for the first time since he’d woken up in this wild place, he didn’t feel as alone anymore.

As the night crept in, the forest around them grew darker, the shadows stretching longer as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Pathfinder found himself sitting on a fallen log, staring into the fire that flickered and danced in front of him. The warmth felt comforting, even though the weight of his memory loss pressed heavily against his chest.

The woman—who hadn’t yet introduced herself—was working quietly nearby, organizing a small pile of twigs and branches to add to the fire. Her movements were swift, purposeful, and efficient. Pathfinder noticed the way she glanced around the clearing every few seconds, as though expecting something to emerge from the surrounding woods. She had clearly been in this place long enough to understand its dangers.

“Do you think anyone else is out here?” Pathfinder asked quietly, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer. His voice broke the silence, and she glanced over at him, her expression unreadable.

“There’s always someone else,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. She set down the branch she had been holding and moved closer to the fire. “This forest doesn’t stay quiet for long.”

Pathfinder nodded, but the unease gnawing at the pit of his stomach didn’t go away. The night felt alive—too alive. Something was out there, watching.

As the fire crackled between them, he studied her more closely. Her eyes were sharp, scanning their surroundings with a watchful intensity, and the faint scars on her arms spoke of someone who had survived much worse than this forest. She wasn’t just a survivor—she was a fighter.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, his voice hesitant. “Or should I just keep calling you… ‘you’?”

Her lips twitched slightly, as if amused, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she gave a small shrug and finally looked him in the eye. “Call me Ironheart.”

“Ironheart?” Pathfinder repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I mean… it’s fitting, I guess. But it sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

She didn’t flinch at his words, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze—something hard and unbroken. “I have.”

There was a heavy silence between them, one that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

“I’m Pathfinder,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt important to give her a name. His name. Even if he didn’t remember how it came to him. It just... felt right.

Ironheart studied him for a moment, her gaze appraising but not unkind. "Pathfinder," she repeated slowly, as if testing the name. "Not bad. You’ve got a lot to figure out, but we can start by surviving."

Pathfinder didn’t know if he could find more answers, but right now, survival felt like a victory in itself. For the first time, he wasn’t entirely alone. Ironheart was here—someone who seemed to know the wilds better than he did, and someone who might just understand what it meant to wake up in a strange place with no past to guide them.

As they sat in silence by the fire, the crackling of the flames the only sound in the clearing, Pathfinder finally allowed himself to breathe a little easier. He still had no idea what happened, or even who he really was. But at least now, he had a name. A companion.

And as the darkness crept deeper, the world felt a little less empty….

Chapter Text

The world was upside down.

The first thing he became aware of was the pain.

He didn't know how he got here, but one second, he was clinging to a tree branch like a monkey, and the next—CRACK.

Gravity won.

With an ungraceful yelp, he tumbled down, arms flailing wildly as he plummeted through the leaves, twisting, turning, crashing. He barely had time to register what was happening before—

WHAM.

He landed flat on his back, staring dazedly up at the sky, his lungs refusing to cooperate.

And then—a face appeared above him.

Wide, round eyes blinked in shock. A man with broad shoulders, covered in dirt and way too many pouches strapped to his belt, was staring at him like he’d just fallen from the heavens. His jaw was slightly slack, a few stray leaves stuck in his curly hair.

Silence.

Then—

"Uhhh… you okay?"

He groaned dramatically, lifting one arm weakly. “Yeah… just… testing the laws of physics. Turns out, they still work.”

The other man blinked again, as if processing whether this was reality or some strange hallucination.

He tried to push himself up, only to realize that something small and fluffy was still clutched in his hand.

A rabbit.

A very unhappy rabbit.

It stared at him, eyes wide with pure rage, and with one violent kick of its back legs, it launched itself free from his grip and disappeared into the underbrush, leaving only a stunned silence in its wake.

He groaned again, this time in defeat. "Okay. That went horribly wrong."

The man above him let out a quiet snort.

“I mean,” he said, extending a hand down to help him up, “points for effort.”

He took the offered hand and let himself be pulled upright, brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes. "Yeah, yeah. Next time, I’ll get it right."

The man nodded, still looking at him like he was trying to figure something out.

“What’s your name?” he asked, flexing his fingers and wincing as a few scratches stung his palms.

There was a pause before the man hesitated, then said, “Lorekeeper.”

He gave him a lopsided grin. "Hah. Sounds fancy. I’m Wildfire—because, y’know—" he gestured broadly at himself, "—I’m kind of awesome."

Lorekeeper didn’t argue, but his expression made it clear that he was not fully convinced.

Still, Wildfire could tell this guy was different. There was something steady about him—something calm, in contrast to Wildfire’s constant burning energy.

And for some reason, that felt… reassuring.

“So…” Wildfire put his hands on his hips. "You been out here long?"

Lorekeeper shrugged, adjusting one of the many pouches strapped to his belt. "A few days, I think. Hard to tell. No memories. No clues."

Wildfire’s grin faltered slightly. Right. That part. The part where none of them knew who they were before waking up here.

That had been gnawing at him since he opened his eyes in the middle of this massive, endless wilderness.

But—eh. No use dwelling on it now.

“So, uh, you got a camp or something?” Wildfire asked, glancing around.

Lorekeeper shook his head. “Not really. Been… gathering things. Mapping the area.”

Wildfire’s eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, so you’re like the nerd of the forest. Got it.”

Lorekeeper huffed, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “I prefer ‘survivalist.’”

“Right, right, nerd with a knife.”

Lorekeeper gave him a look but didn’t deny it.

Wildfire grinned. “Well, you’re in luck! You just found the best survival partner possible.” He gestured dramatically to himself. "Strong, resourceful, incredibly handsome—"

“I just watched you fall out of a tree.”

Wildfire pointed at him. “Irrelevant.”

Lorekeeper snorted.

It wasn’t long before they started traveling together, and for all of Wildfire’s big talk, he had to admit—Lorekeeper was actually really useful. He knew which plants were edible, which ones weren’t (Wildfire learned that lesson the hard way), and he was good at tracking.

Not that Wildfire would ever admit it out loud, but—yeah. He was kinda glad they ran into each other.

And even though the memories of their pasts were lost, at least they weren’t alone anymore.

After two days of traveling together, Wildfire and Lorekeeper finally stumbled across something unexpected.

Or rather—Wildfire stumbled.

Literally.

Right into a campfire.

One second, they were moving through the trees, and the next—Wildfire tripped over a root, rolled down a small incline, and tumbled straight into an open clearing.

The moment his body crashed through the underbrush, he landed face-first on the ground.

For a moment, silence.

Then—the sharp sound of a weapon being drawn.

Wildfire groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows, only to freeze when he noticed the two figures standing over him.

One of them—a tall, blonde warrior woman—had a very sharp axe.

The other—a nervous-looking guy with messy brown hair—had a blade in hand but looked like he didn’t actually want to use it.

“Uh,” Wildfire said, grinning up at them. “Hi.”

Lorekeeper stepped into the clearing behind him, raising both hands cautiously. “Okay, uh, don’t kill him. Please. He’s dumb, but he’s mostly harmless.”

Ironheart didn’t lower her axe.

Pathfinder,, took a step forward, scanning them carefully.

“…Who are you?” he asked cautiously.

Lorekeeper glanced at Wildfire before answering. “I’m Lorekeeper. This is Wildfire.”

Wildfire grinned, jerking a thumb toward himself. “Best survivalist in the woods. Also, the best tree climber—don’t let my earlier performance fool you.”

Ironheart exhaled through her nose. “We’ll see about that.”

Pathfinder hesitated only a second longer before lowering his stick. “I’m Pathfinder. This is Ironheart.”

Pathfinder exchanged a glance with Ironheart, who still looked like she was deciding whether or not to just throw him out of the clearing.

Finally, Pathfinder sighed. "You two don’t have a camp, do you?"

Lorekeeper shook his head. “No.”

Pathfinder hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. You can stay. But if you cause trouble—"

Ironheart cut in, her voice sharp. "You’re out."

Wildfire raised his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, I’m a delight. No trouble here. You won’t even notice I’m around."

Ironheart squinted at him. "I highly doubt that."

Lorekeeper sat more carefully, glancing at Pathfinder. “You’ve built a good shelter.”

Pathfinder nodded. “It’s a start.”

Ironheart crossed her arms. “We need to set rules if we’re staying together.”

Wildfire groaned. “Of course, there’s gotta be rules.”

Ironheart shot him a look. “Unless you want to survive alone?”

Wildfire immediately held up his hands. “Nope! Rules are great. Big fan of rules.”

Pathfinder chuckled slightly.

The fire flickered between them, the scent of smoke and fresh earth mixing with the crisp night air. Wildfire sat cross-legged near the flames, chewing on a strip of dried meat—an offering from Pathfinder, who seemed hesitant but willing to share. Lorekeeper was already examining the layout of the camp, his keen eyes assessing the structure of the small shelter Pathfinder and Ironheart had built.

It wasn’t much—just a lean-to of sturdy branches reinforced with thick leaves—but it was something.

Something solid. Something safe.

Wildfire, however, had other priorities. He leaned back on his hands, glancing between Pathfinder and Ironheart, his signature smirk in place.

“So,” he said, mouth half-full, “what’s the deal with you two? You a couple or what?”

Pathfinder’s eyes widen and choked on his own breath.

Ironheart’s glare could’ve set the entire forest on fire.

Lorekeeper sighed deeply and facepalms.

Wildfire, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

Pathfinder coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not—we’re just surviving together.”

Ironheart crossed her arms, eyes still narrowed dangerously. “And we’ll be fine on our own if you start causing trouble.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Wildfire grinned. “I live for trouble.”

Ironheart’s fingers twitched toward her axe.

Lorekeeper grabbed Wildfire’s arm, pulling him back slightly. “I’d really prefer not to be kicked out of camp before we even get comfortable.”

Wildfire sighed dramatically but let it go—for now.

Pathfinder shook his head, clearly regretting his life choices. “Look, if you two are staying, we need to establish some ground rules.”

Ironheart nodded. “No stealing. No lying. No causing unnecessary trouble.”

Wildfire snorted. “Define unnecessary.”

Ironheart’s expression darkened.

Lorekeeper jabbed him in the ribs.

“Fine, fine,” Wildfire relented, holding up his hands. “I’ll behave. Mostly.”

Pathfinder sighed, but there was a hint of amusement in his tired expression.

Lorekeeper, meanwhile, shifted his weight, glancing around the camp. “So… what’s the plan, exactly?”

Pathfinder and Ironheart exchanged a glance.

“For now,” Pathfinder said, “we build. We hunt. We survive.”

Ironheart nodded. “And we don’t trust just anyone.”

Wildfire smirked. “Too late. You already let me in.”

Ironheart looked like she regretted it instantly.

Lorekeeper just sighed again. “This is going to be a long journey.”

The Next Day…

Morning came fast.

Pathfinder had barely stirred when he heard rustling outside the shelter. He opened his eyes just in time to see Wildfire climbing a tree.

“Don’t fall this time,” Lorekeeper muttered below, gathering a small bundle of herbs.

Wildfire scoffed. “Please. That was a fluke. I’m a natural climber.”

Not even five seconds later—

SNAP.

A branch gave out beneath him, and he came crashing down—again—right into the dirt.

Pathfinder winced. Ironheart groaned. Lorekeeper pinched the bridge of his nose.

Wildfire groaned from the ground, waving a hand. “I’m fine.”

“Why are you like this?” Ironheart muttered.

Wildfire sat up, grinning through the pain. “It’s a gift.”

Pathfinder sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re going to be climbing trees, at least make yourself useful. We need more wood for the shelter.”

Lorekeeper perked up. “I can help with that. There are some sturdier branches a little deeper in the forest.”

Ironheart stood, rolling her shoulders. “Then let’s move. We need to reinforce this place before the next storm.”

Wildfire dusted himself off. “Ooh, I like it. Hard work. Manual labor. My specialty.”

Ironheart gave him a look.

Pathfinder just shook his head.

And with that, the four of them set off into the trees, unaware that their small camp was about to grow even larger.

Chapter Text

The night had been restless. Even after the storm settled, the distant rustling they had heard had put everyone on edge. Pathfinder had stayed up long after the others had fallen asleep, listening to the unsettling silence that followed the storm.

Morning came swiftly, with the first rays of sunlight pushing through the dense canopy above. The air was still damp, the earth beneath them soft from the night’s rain. Their shelter had held strong, but the tension from the night before still clung to them like a thick fog.

“We need more food,” Lorekeeper announced as he stretched. His sharp gaze flickered to the small pile of rations they had left. “With the four of us, we’re going through it too fast.”

Pathfinder nodded. “We’ll split up. Two of us hunt, two of us secure the camp.”

“I call hunting,” Wildfire declared, already stretching his arms like he was preparing for battle.

Ironheart rolled her eyes. “You fell out of a tree trying to catch a rabbit.”

“And this time, I’ll win.”

Pathfinder let out a small sigh. “Fine. Wildfire, you’re with me.”

Lorekeeper looked at Ironheart. “That leaves us to reinforce the camp.”

Ironheart nodded in approval. “Good. I don’t trust the storm didn’t weaken parts of the shelter.”

With that, they split up, Wildfire practically bouncing on his feet as he followed Pathfinder into the woods.

The forest was alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Pathfinder moved carefully through the undergrowth, his eyes scanning for tracks. Wildfire, on the other hand, was less than subtle.

“Do you have to step on every single branch?” Pathfinder whispered, his tone exasperated.

“I’m asserting dominance,” Wildfire whispered back.

Pathfinder pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not how hunting works.”

They pressed on, moving deeper into the woods. The ground was still soft from the rain, which made tracking easier—and that’s when Pathfinder spotted them.

Footprints.

Not animal.

Human.

He crouched, touching the imprints in the dirt. They were fresh.

Wildfire peered over his shoulder. “We expecting company?”

Pathfinder’s grip on his knife tightened. “I don’t know.”

They followed the tracks cautiously, their usual banter forgotten as the tension rose. Whoever had left these footprints wasn’t far.

And then, they heard it.

A rustling—followed by a low, hushed whisper.

Pathfinder held up a hand, signaling Wildfire to stop. They pressed themselves against a tree, listening.

“Are they following us?”

“Maybe. Maybe we’re following them.”

The voices were eerily similar—mischievous, playful, yet laced with an underlying sharpness.

Pathfinder exhaled slowly.

“We weren’t alone…”

A branch snapped.

Pathfinder and Wildfire barely had time to react before two figures dropped down from the trees above, landing with unsettling grace.

The newcomers were almost identical—wild blonde hair, twisting vines and bones woven into their tangled locks. Their clothes were patched together from different materials, and their eyes gleamed with mischief.

One of them grinned wildly, balancing effortlessly on a fallen log. “Well, well, look what we have here.”

The other crouched low, their sharp eyes flickering between Pathfinder and Wildfire. “Travelers? Hunters? Lost souls?”

Wildfire blinked. “Are you guys—”

“Ghosts?” the first twin interrupted, waggling their eyebrows.

“Spirits?” the second added, tilting their head.

“Figments of your imagination?”

The first twin cackled. “Maybe!”

Pathfinder stayed tense, watching them carefully. “Who are you?”

The first twin placed a dramatic hand to their chest. “Ah, introductions! How very formal.”

The second leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Names are tricky things. Can’t trust ‘em.”

“Buuuut,” the first one continued, “if you must call us something…”

They both grinned in unison.

“I’m Rascal.”

“I’m Whisper.”

Wildfire snorted. “Of course you are.”

Rascal bounded forward, circling Pathfinder with curious, cat-like steps. “And what about you? You smell of fire and storms. A leader, but reluctant.”

Whisper drifted toward Wildfire, peering at him with unsettling intensity. “And you—you’re loud. Unhinged. Do you even have a filter?”

Wildfire crossed his arms. “Nope.”

Whisper seemed pleased. “Good.”

Pathfinder took a steadying breath. “Why are you following us?”

Rascal tilted their head. “Why are you following us?”

Whisper giggled. “We were here first.”

Wildfire raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Rascal’s grin widened. “Positive.”

There was a beat of silence, the two groups staring each other down—not quite enemies, not quite allies.

And then, Whisper’s stomach growled.

Everyone froze.

Rascal looked horrified. “Betrayal.”

Whisper placed a hand over their stomach. “Ignore that.”

Wildfire smirked. “You’re hungry.”

“No,” Whisper denied, very unconvincingly.

Pathfinder sighed. “We have food back at camp.”

The twins perked up.

“An invitation?” Rascal gasped.

Wildfire rolled his eyes. “More like a bribe.”

Whisper grinned. “Either way, we accept.”

Pathfinder rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. This was going to be a long day.

Back at Camp

Ironheart had just finished reinforcing part of the shelter when she saw them return.

“You’re back! How was the-“ she started to say when she suddenly grabbed her axe.

“Who,” she said, voice dangerously low, “are they?”

Pathfinder sighed. “New… members?”

Rascal twirled dramatically. “We prefer ‘esteemed guests.’”

Whisper stared at Ironheart’s axe. “That’s a big weapon. I like it.”

Ironheart did not look convinced. “And we’re trusting them why?”

“They were hungry and lost,” Pathfinder said simply.

Ironheart gave him a flat look.

Wildfire grinned. “Plus they’re fun.”

Ironheart’s expression darkened. “That is not a valid reason.”

Lorekeeper, who had been tending the fire, observed the twins with sharp interest. “They look like they’ve been in the wild for a while.”

Rascal grinned. “We belong in the wild.”

Whisper tilted their head. “But maybe… maybe this place isn’t so bad either.”

Ironheart folded her arms. “We’ll see about that.”

Rascal and Whisper exchanged mischievous glances.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the camp. The newcomers—Rascal and Whisper—had made themselves very comfortable, stretching out near the warmth like they had always belonged there.

Ironheart sat opposite them, sharpening her axe with slow, deliberate movements. Watching.

Pathfinder could feel her tension. He didn’t blame her. The twins were… unpredictable.

Lorekeeper, always the curious one, broke the silence first.

“How long have you been out here?”

Whisper stretched like a cat. “Forever.”

Rascal hummed. “Or maybe just a while. Time’s weird when you stop counting.”

Pathfinder frowned. “You don’t know?”

Rascal grinned. “Not really.”

Ironheart’s grip on her axe tightened. “That’s not an answer.”

Whisper shrugged. “Maybe it is.”

Wildfire leaned forward, intrigued. “So you just—what? Woke up one day and decided to go feral?”

The twins exchanged amused glances.

“Not decided,” Whisper murmured. “We just… were.”

Rascal twirled a loose strand of their tangled hair, their grin fading slightly. “Woke up. Didn’t remember anything. No names, no past. Just us and the wild.”

Pathfinder stilled. That was too familiar.

Ironheart caught on just as quickly. “You don’t remember anything before this?”

The twins shook their heads.

“Nothing solid,” Rascal admitted. “Flashes, sometimes. A feeling. But no past.”

Whisper frowned, gaze dropping to the dirt. “Just the now.”

A heavy silence followed.

Pathfinder exhaled, his own memories—or lack of them—weighing on his chest.

“Then we’re the same,” he said quietly.

The twins looked up, sharp eyes meeting his.

Lorekeeper nodded. “All of us woke up with nothing but instincts and survival. No history. No real names.”

Wildfire smirked. “No manners, either.”

Whisper snorted. “Look who’s talking.”

Rascal grinned. “Well, if we’re all a bunch of lost, feral weirdos—guess that makes us a pack.”

Ironheart sighed. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Rascal winked. “Isn’t it?”

As the night deepened, the twins became less guarded. They spoke in a way that danced around truths, but little details slipped through.

They had been out there for a long time. Longer than any of them.

They knew the land—its dangers, its hidden places.

They moved like the forest itself, comfortable in a way the others were still learning to be.

“Lived off whatever we could find,” Rascal explained, casually flipping a dagger between their fingers.

“Made our own clothes,” Whisper added, tugging at the layered, mismatched fabric.

“Traps, shelters, tricks to keep things from eating us—”

Wildfire perked up. “Wait, things?”

Whisper grinned. “The woods aren’t exactly empty.”

A chill settled over the group.

Pathfinder shifted. “What do you mean?”

Rascal tapped their temple. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The eyes in the dark.”

Lorekeeper swallowed.

Ironheart’s gaze flickered to the trees beyond their camp, fingers tightening on her axe.

Wildfire huffed, trying to shake off the unease. “Pfft. You’re just messing with us.”

Whisper smirked. “Maybe.”

Rascal leaned back, folding their hands behind their head. “Maybe not.”

No one slept easy that night…

Chapter Text

It’s been a few days since the twins’ arrival.

The camp had settled into a rhythm. Pathfinder and the others had learned to balance hunting, shelter-building, and defending the camp, all while navigating the growing complexity of their relationships with each other. But it wasn’t without its challenges. There were still dangers in the wilderness—creatures that lurked in the shadows, wild storms that tore through the trees, and threats they couldn’t yet understand.

That’s why Ironheart had assigned a mission to Pathfinder, Lorekeeper, and Wildfire.

“The camp needs more supplies,” Ironheart explained, her tone firm. “We don’t know what’s out there, but we can’t survive off scraps. You three need to scout and bring back anything useful. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Understood,” Pathfinder nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

Wildfire grinned, his usual reckless energy barely contained. “This will be fun! Adventure, food, danger…” He glanced at Lorekeeper. “What’s not to love?”

Lorekeeper, ever the cautious one, shot Wildfire a look. “Let’s just get the supplies, okay?”

The three of them set off through the woods, moving quietly through the underbrush. The forest had become somewhat familiar to them, though it still held mysteries—twists in the paths they didn’t expect, trees that creaked in eerie ways, and strange creatures that seemed to watch from the shadows.

They had been traveling for several hours when they stumbled upon something unexpected: a clearing, untouched by the chaos of the storm they had encountered days earlier. At the center of the clearing, a tall figure stood, silhouetted against the gray sky.

At first glance, it looked like a man—but something was off. The figure’s posture was tense, protective, as though they were guarding something—or someone.

Pathfinder raised a hand to signal for them to stop.

“What is that?” Lorekeeper whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” Pathfinder replied, narrowing his eyes.

Before they could take another step, the figure turned, revealing something that made their hearts skip a beat: a woman, standing beside him. She was pale, her skin almost glowing in the dim light, her hair an ice-white cascade that seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light. Her eyes were frightened, but there was a power to her gaze—one that spoke of strength, but also of pain.

The man, whose attention had been fully on the woman, now turned to face the newcomers. His gaze was sharp, intense, protective.

“Stay back,” the man called, his voice low but commanding.

Wildfire, ever the bold one, took a step forward, but Lorekeeper quickly grabbed his arm. “Don’t provoke him. We don’t know who they are.”

“Who are you?” Pathfinder asked, his voice steady but cautious.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he assessed them. His hand was protectively on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m Glacier,” he said, his tone flat. “And she’s Aurora. We’re not looking for trouble.”

Lorekeeper’s expression softened. “Are you—are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentler.

Aurora’s gaze flickered to him, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she moved slightly behind Glacier, clearly keeping her distance.

Pathfinder felt the shift in the air—there was tension, a sense that something was wrong. But what, exactly, he couldn’t tell.

“Aurora,” Glacier said softly, but his voice carried the unmistakable weight of worry. “You’re hurt.”

At this, Aurora flinched, as though the mention of her injury made it more real. Her fingers brushed against her side, where a dark stain had already begun to spread across her cloak.

“Is that… blood?” Lorekeeper asked, his voice now full of concern.

Glacier’s eyes flicked to the group, his protective stance immediately intensifying. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “She just needs rest.”

Pathfinder stepped forward. “We can help. We’re not here to hurt you...”

Glacier’s eyes hardened. “I don’t trust you.”

“We don’t trust anyone,” Wildfire added, his usual bravado falling away at the sight of Aurora’s injury. “But we can still help.”

Pathfinder nodded, looking at Glacier with determination. “If we don’t help her, she won’t make it. Let us help.”

Glacier hesitated, his posture stiff, but the desperation in his eyes—for Aurora, for someone he clearly cared about—was evident. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded.

“…Fine. But if this is a trick, I won’t hesitate to defend her.”

Pathfinder’s eyes softened. “We understand.”

The journey back to camp was quiet. Glacier kept Aurora close to him, never letting her out of his sight. Pathfinder, Lorekeeper, and Wildfire kept their distance, respecting the fragility of the situation.

Once they arrived, Ironheart was immediately on her feet, her sharp eyes scanning the newcomers. She took one look at Aurora’s injury and nodded at Pathfinder.

“Get her to the shelter. We’ll treat the wound there.”

Glacier didn’t argue. He carefully guided Aurora toward the camp, his hand on her back as she walked slowly, the pain clearly evident in every step she took.

The others, noticing the new arrivals, gathered around, their curiosity piqued. Rascal and Whisper, despite their usual chaos, were eerily quiet as they watched the scene unfold.

“You’re hurt,” Ironheart said, her voice quieter than usual. “We can help.”

Glacier stiffened again, but Aurora, now seated near the fire, finally spoke. Her voice was soft, but steady. “Thank you,” she said, though there was an undercurrent of exhaustion in her tone.

“We don’t have much,” Ironheart said, gesturing to the camp. “But we can at least clean and bandage the wound. If you’ll trust us.”

Glacier glanced at Aurora, his protective instincts still flaring. But when he saw the way she looked at the camp—a mix of curiosity and hope—he nodded reluctantly.

“Alright. But no funny business.”

”Of course.”

For the next several hours, the camp shifted was tense.

Ironheart worked carefully, cleaning Aurora’s injury, though the wound seemed deep. Lorekeeper had joined her, offering advice on herbs and salves, while Wildfire scouted for any potential threats, though he was a little less serious than usual. Rascal and Whisper, to their surprise, helped gather firewood and keep the area secure.

By the time nightfall arrived, the injury had been cleaned and bandaged, though Aurora’s strength was still lacking.

Glacier, despite his usual tough demeanor, had softened in his care for Aurora. His eyes never left her for too long.

Ironheart sat across from them, observing quietly. “We don’t have much food to offer, but we can share what we have.”

Glacier didn’t reply at first, and then, after a long pause, he looked at Pathfinder. “Why are you helping us? We don’t know you. You don’t know us.”

Pathfinder looked at him seriously. “We’re all just trying to survive.”

Wildfire added, “And we don’t leave people behind. Even if they’re as… grumpy as you.”

The group chuckled softly at Wildfire’s words, but Glacier’s expression remained impassive. He glanced at Aurora, who was now resting, and finally sighed.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, though his voice was gruff. “I didn’t expect this.”

Pathfinder nodded. “We’re all in this together now.”

As the fire crackled, the group began to settle in for the night. It wasn’t easy to trust strangers in a world so harsh, but there was something about the shared silence—the understanding of survival—that made the camp feel a little less like a collection of lost souls, and more like a family.

Glacier and Aurora were silent for the moment, but both had been marked by the hardships of this world they had found themselves in. They had lost so much, but here, with these strange companions, there was a flicker of hope—one they hadn’t felt in a long time.

And perhaps, for now, that was enough….

Chapter Text

Glacier had always relied on himself. Even before waking up in this strange, untamed world with no memory of who he was before, he had known one thing—he had to protect Aurora.

She had been there when he woke up, pale and shivering, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The air around her had been cold, unnaturally so, and the frost that formed beneath her fingers had told him all he needed to know. She was different. Dangerous, maybe. But fragile in a way he couldn’t explain.

He had kept them moving, scavenging, hunting, avoiding threats. Four weeks. That’s how long they had been out there, alone, before the others had found them.

And now?

Now they were surrounded by people.

It had been two days since they arrived at the camp, and Glacier still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Aurora was recovering slowly. The fever had faded, but she still tired easily, and Glacier didn’t like the way Ironheart looked at her wound as if expecting it to get worse.

He didn’t trust them yet. Not really. But… he was watching them.

And what he saw confused him.

They weren’t cruel. They weren’t using him and Aurora. They weren’t waiting to strike.

They acted like a family.

Trusting people was dangerous. He had spent four weeks protecting Aurora alone, fighting off predators, starving, trying to keep them both warm.

So right now, all he could do was watch and wait.

And protect Aurora…

Glacier didn’t sleep much.

Even though the campfire crackled warmly, even though Aurora had finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep, his mind refused to rest. His body stayed tense, his ears attuned to every sound—the rustling of the trees, the distant howls of unseen creatures, the quiet breathing of the strangers they now shared space with.

The strangers.

No… not strangers anymore.

They had offered help when they didn’t have to. They had treated Aurora’s wound, given them food, a place to rest. They had asked for nothing in return.

But Glacier knew better than to trust easily.

He glanced at Aurora, curled up by the fire, her face pale even in sleep. She was still weak, still recovering. She was his priority. Until she was strong enough to stand on her own, he wouldn’t let his guard down.

Not for a second…

When Aurora woke, the camp was already alive with movement.

Ironheart was sharpening a blade by the fire, her gaze flickering toward the trees every so often. Pathfinder sat nearby, sketching something in the dirt—maps, maybe? Plans? Wildfire and Lorekeeper were having an animated conversation a short distance away, while Rascal and Whisper were… hanging upside down from a low branch for some reason.

It was chaos, but a controlled one.

Aurora stirred, wincing slightly as pain flared up her side. The movement caught Ironheart’s attention.

“You’re awake,” she said, standing up and walking over.

Aurora gave a small nod, still wary.

Ironheart crouched beside her, eyeing her bandages. “How’s the pain?”

“…Manageable,” Aurora murmured.

“Hmph. You’re tougher than you look,” Ironheart said, her approval evident. “The wound will take time to heal, but you’ll be fine if you don’t push yourself too hard.”

Aurora glanced at Glacier, who was still watching everyone with suspicion, his back straight and tense. She sighed. “We’ve had worse.”

Ironheart raised a brow at that but didn’t push. “How long have you two been out here?”

Glacier’s head snapped toward her. “Why?”

Ironheart folded her arms. “Because it helps to know what you’ve been through.”

Aurora hesitated, exchanging a glance with Glacier. How much should they say?

“…Weeks,” Aurora finally answered. “Maybe longer.”

“Same as us,” Pathfinder said, finally speaking up. “So you don’t remember anything either?”

Glacier stiffened. “No.”

Pathfinder nodded, as if he understood more than he was saying.

Aurora watched him carefully. There was something about him—a quiet understanding, a careful way he measured his words—that made it clear he had been struggling with the same questions.

Who were they? Why were they here?

The next few days were… strange.

Glacier and Aurora had expected hostility, expected to be outsiders—but instead, they found themselves being pulled into the group’s strange, chaotic rhythm.

Ironheart, despite her no-nonsense demeanor, checked on Aurora’s injury daily, ensuring it was healing properly. She was blunt, but not unkind.

Pathfinder shared his maps, showing them where they had explored so far. “We don’t know how big this place is,” he admitted, frowning. “But we’re trying to figure it out.”

Lorekeeper, ever the scholar, pestered them with a million questions about what they had seen, what they remembered, what they knew about the land. “You said you’ve been out here for weeks—did you see any structures? Ruins? People?”

Glacier just gave him a flat look. “No.”

Lorekeeper deflated a little, but nodded. “Still… anything you remember could be useful.”

Aurora, for her part, found herself spending time around Wildfire, Rascal, and Whisper, who were the loudest, most chaotic part of the group.

Wildfire had no concept of personal space, constantly checking on her. “You need anything? Food? Water? A distraction? I could totally wrestle a bear for you.”

Aurora blinked at him. “I’d… prefer if you didn’t.”

Meanwhile, Rascal and Whisper were a mystery. They didn’t talk about their past much, but they had clearly been here a while. They were fast, unpredictable, and always up to something. They reminded Aurora of storm winds—sudden, wild, and completely uncontrollable.

“We were out there long before the others,” Whisper told her one evening, leaning against a tree. “Don’t know how long. Time’s weird.”

“So you survived out there alone?” Aurora asked.

Rascal grinned. “Alone? Pffft, nah. We had each other. That’s all we needed.”

Aurora was starting to realize—they didn’t see survival the way she and Glacier did.

Where she and Glacier had been on edge, constantly fighting to stay alive, the twins had simply lived.

It was… strange to think about.

As the days passed, Glacier and Aurora settled into Wild Haven’s rhythm.

Aurora, despite her lingering injury, began helping with small tasks—sorting supplies, organizing food, learning the group’s systems. She was quiet, but her presence was warm, calming. She was the cold of winter, but also the beauty of snowfall—the quiet peace that followed a storm.

Glacier, though still distant, watched over them all in his own way. He was the one who checked the perimeter for dangers. The one who made sure the fire didn’t go out at night. The one who, despite his grumbling, made sure Aurora ate enough.

The others noticed.

“They’re starting to fit in,” Pathfinder murmured to Ironheart one evening.

Ironheart smirked. “Yeah. Took long enough.”

As the fire crackled, Glacier sat near Aurora, his expression unreadable. She glanced at him and gave a small smile.

Maybe they weren’t alone anymore.

Maybe they had found something worth protecting…

The wind whistled through the trees, rustling leaves and sending small animals skittering into the underbrush.

Sunbeam ran barefoot through the grass, laughing.

“Come on, slowpokes!” she called over her shoulder, her braided golden hair trailing behind her like a banner.

Behind her, Serenade chuckled, his guitar slung across his back. “We’re trying, but some of us aren’t built for running, Sunbeam.”

Ember scoffed from her position just behind him, her bow strapped tightly to her back. “You’re the one who insisted on carrying that thing everywhere,” she pointed out. “You don’t even use it as a weapon.”

“I could,” Serenade said, sounding far too proud of himself.

Sunbeam just rolled her eyes. “You two argue like siblings.”

It had been at least a week since the three of them had found each other.

Sunbeam had been alone at first. She had woken up in the middle of a field of wildflowers, confused, with no memories except her name.

She didn’t remember how long she wandered before she found Serenade.

Or rather, before he found her.

She had been climbing a tree for fun when she heard music. Soft, gentle strumming, almost hypnotic. When she followed the sound, she found him sitting on a rock near a stream, playing his guitar like he had nothing to worry about.

Serenade had been calm, peaceful, almost frustratingly so. But he had a way of making her feel safe.

Then, only a day later, they met Ember.

Unlike Serenade, Ember was all fire and sharp edges. She didn’t talk much, but her arrows never missed. She had been surviving alone, tracking game, staying hidden. When Sunbeam and Serenade crossed her path, she had an arrow aimed at them before they even saw her.

She didn’t trust them at first. But she had been watching them. And after two days of trailing them, she finally stepped out of the shadows.

“You two are hopeless,” she had muttered.

And just like that, they became three.

They had been traveling together ever since, trying to make sense of the world around them.

Now, they had a new problem.

“I saw smoke earlier,” Ember said as they walked through the forest.

Sunbeam blinked. “Smoke?”

Ember nodded. “A campfire, I think. Could be people.”

Serenade strummed a few idle notes on his guitar. “Could be dangerous people.”

“Or good people,” Sunbeam countered. “We don’t know until we look.”

Ember frowned but didn’t argue.

The three of them moved cautiously, weaving through the trees, keeping low. The scent of smoke grew stronger, mingling with the fresh scent of pine and earth.

Then—voices.

They stopped, hiding behind a thick patch of bushes.

The voices were close.

Sunbeam shifted, peering through the leaves. What she saw made her heart race.

There was a camp, much more developed than their own makeshift shelters. People moved about, talking, working—living.

Sunbeam’s breath caught in her throat.

People.

Serenade leaned over her shoulder, his expression unreadable. “What do you think?” he whispered.

Ember, always wary, kept a hand near her bow. “They’re armed,” she murmured. “They may know how to fight.”

Sunbeam’s mind raced. This could be it. A place to belong.

Or it could be a trap.

She glanced at Serenade. He gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Then she looked at Ember, who just gave a nod.

“…Let’s get a closer look,” Sunbeam whispered.

And with that, they moved forward…

Chapter Text

The night was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves in the trees and the occasional snap of a twig beneath shifting weight. A crisp chill lingered in the air, not unnatural, but distinct—a quiet reminder of Glacier’s presence. Pathfinder exhaled slowly, watching the faint mist of his breath disappear in the moonlight.

“I know you said you’d stick around,” Pathfinder said, glancing toward the white-haired trickster perched on a low tree branch, “but I can’t help wondering how much you actually want to be here.”

Glacier scoffed, twirling his staff idly in one hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pathfinder shrugged, kicking at a small rock. “It’s just… you’re not exactly the ‘settle down and follow rules’ type. And Aurora—well, I get the feeling she’s still figuring out if she even wants to trust us.”

Glacier was quiet for a moment, gaze drifting toward the stars. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “She’s still hurt. And—” He hesitated, tapping his staff against the tree. “It’s hard for her to let people in. But she’s trying. I think.”

Pathfinder nodded. He understood that feeling all too well. “She doesn’t have to figure it out alone.”

Glacier eyed him, a lopsided smirk forming. “That your way of saying you actually care?”

Pathfinder rolled his eyes. “Of course, I care, you frostbitten menace. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this group now. That means you and Aurora have people looking out for you.” He gave a pointed look. “Not that you’ll make it easy.”

Glacier chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, the two simply sat in companionable silence, the night settling around them. The distant hum of camp was barely audible, a reminder that even on nights like this, they weren’t alone.

Then, a noise broke through the quiet—distant but distinct. Voices. More than one. And unfamiliar.

Pathfinder and Glacier exchanged looks.

“Something or someone is out there,” Pathfinder murmured.

Glacier tilted his head, listening. “And I think they’re heading toward camp.”

Without another word, they moved, slipping through the trees toward the source of the sound.

Pathfinder and Glacier moved quickly but carefully through the underbrush, their footsteps light against the forest floor. The voices grew clearer as they drew closer, weaving through the trees like echoes in the night.

“…I told you we weren’t lost,” one voice huffed—feminine, confident, and carrying the lilt of an accent.

“Technically, we weren’t lost, just… temporarily unsure of our exact position,” another voice responded, smoother, amused. A male voice this time.

“I think that’s just a fancy way of sayin’ we were lost,” the first voice shot back.

A third voice piped up—lighter, warmer. “Come on, it’s not so bad! We found a path, didn’t we?”

Pathfinder slowed, crouching behind a fallen log as he peered ahead through the foliage. Glacier landed beside him without a sound, his usual playful demeanor momentarily replaced by quiet focus.

Through the breaks in the leaves, Pathfinder caught sight of the figures moving through the trees. Three of them.

The first, a young woman with wild, curly red hair, moved with the sharp awareness of a hunter. She carried herself like she expected a threat to appear at any moment, her bow slung over her shoulder, ready at a moment’s notice. Her steps were precise, careful.

The second, a man with dark hair and a guitar strapped across his back, had an easy grace to his movements. He glanced around with curiosity rather than suspicion, as if he were drinking in every detail of his surroundings.

The third, a blonde woman in a long braid, seemed the least concerned of the three. She practically radiated warmth, her expression open and bright even as she scanned the trees. She carried a satchel filled with supplies, the strap secured tightly across her chest.

They weren’t a threat—not immediately, at least—but that didn’t mean Pathfinder was about to let his guard down.

“Great,” Glacier murmured, barely above a whisper. “New people.”

Pathfinder shot him a look. “That’s usually not a bad thing.”

Glacier raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Pathfinder didn’t answer right away. He’d learned the hard way that trusting too quickly could backfire. But these three… they don’t look like threats. They weren’t skulking in the shadows or whispering in hushed tones. If anything, they seemed like they were just… searching.

“Let’s see what they do,” Pathfinder said, settling in to observe.

Glacier sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he rested his staff against his shoulder and muttered, “If they turn out to be trouble, I get to say ‘I told you so.’”

The three strangers continued forward, unaware of the quiet eyes watching them from the trees.

The trio moved deeper into the forest, their voices softening as they exchanged quiet comments about the unfamiliar terrain.

“We’ve got to be close now, right?” Sunbeam asked, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “I think I recognize that ridge from earlier.”

Serenade glanced around, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took in the quiet beauty of the surroundings. “I think you're right. It’s… peaceful here.”

“I still don’t trust it,” Ember muttered, her eyes darting around. She was the quietest of the three, but her sharp gaze was constantly sweeping the trees, ears pricked for any sign of danger. The hunter in her never fully relaxed. “We’ve been through too many strange places to take anything for granted.”

Sunbeam chuckled lightly. “You’re right, of course. But this place feels different. It feels…” She paused, searching for the word. “Safe.”

Ember scoffed softly. “Safe’s a word you throw around when you haven’t been ambushed yet.”

Serenade raised an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are, following us into ‘safe’ territory.”

Ember shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Someone has to keep you two out of trouble.”

They moved onward, their path winding along the forest’s edge. The canopy above thickened, casting dappled shadows across their faces. Despite the beauty of the night, a sense of unease hung in the air—their first encounter with a new place, the unknown stretching out before them.

As they continued walking, the path ahead finally began to open up, and the dense trees cleared just enough to reveal a glimpse of a large clearing. The sounds of voices, laughter, and crackling fire reached their ears, unmistakable signs of a camp.

Serenade brightened. “That’s it. That’s the camp.”

Ember’s posture remained tense. “We don’t know who they are. Be ready for anything.”

Sunbeam gave her a soft smile, her eyes glinting with quiet confidence. “We’ll be fine.” She didn’t sound like someone who feared the unknown.

“I guess we’re about to find out if this ‘safe’ place is as good as it looks.”

Sunbeam took a step into the clearing, Serenade right beside her. Ember, as always, positioned herself slightly ahead of them, her stance alert but measured.

They had barely set foot past the treeline when a sudden rustling in the foliage made Ember’s hand snap to her bow.

A figure dropped from a low branch ahead of them, landing with unsettling ease.

Glacier.

His staff was already in his grip, blue frost coiling at the edges as he narrowed his eyes. “Well, well,” he said, his voice light but edged with something sharper. “Looks like we’ve got some visitors.”

Before Sunbeam or Serenade could respond, Ember was already stepping in front of them, hand firm on the bow slung across her back. She didn’t draw an arrow, but her stance made it clear—one wrong move, and she would.

A second figure emerged from the shadows, less dramatic in his entrance but no less intentional.

Pathfinder.

His green eyes flicked from Sunbeam to Serenade to Ember, quickly assessing the situation. His posture wasn’t openly hostile, but there was a wariness in the way he carried himself—like someone who had seen enough trouble to know when to be cautious.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice steady.

Sunbeam opened her mouth, ready to answer, but Ember cut in first. “Who’s askin’?”

Glacier snorted. “You show up near our camp and you think you’re the ones asking questions?”

Ember’s grip on her bow tightened. “You were the ones hidin’ in the trees.”

“And you were the ones sneaking around our territory,” Glacier shot back, frost creeping subtly along the ground near his feet.

Serenade sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ah, wonderful. We’ve known each other for thirty seconds, and we’re already at an impasse.”

Pathfinder shot him a wary glance. “You’re not armed.” It wasn’t a question. Serenade’s lack of visible weapons hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The musician gave a small, disarming shrug. “Depends on how you feel about guitars.”

Sunbeam, deciding that someone needed to cut the tension, placed a gentle hand on Ember’s arm. “We’re not looking for trouble,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “We were passing through, saw the camp, and thought maybe we could talk.”

Ember didn’t lower her guard, but she also didn’t interrupt.

Pathfinder studied them a moment longer before saying, “You don’t look like bandits.”

Serenade let out a low chuckle. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

Glacier’s grip on his staff remained firm, but he glanced at Pathfinder. “I still don’t like it,” he muttered.

Pathfinder hummed, still watching the three newcomers carefully. “Neither do I,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t mean we chase them off just yet.”

Ember didn’t relax, her sharp gaze locked on Glacier, who, in turn, was eyeing her just as intensely. Two opposing forces, neither willing to back down.

Serenade leaned slightly toward Sunbeam and murmured, “I think they’d actually fight if we let them.”

Sunbeam sighed. “Let’s… not do that.”

Finally, Pathfinder exhaled and lowered his stance just slightly. “We should talk to the others.” He looked at Ember in particular. “If you’re serious about not being a threat, you won’t start anything when we get to camp.”

Ember didn’t move for a long moment. Then, with a slow breath, she loosened her grip on her bow—not fully letting down her guard, but at least showing she wasn’t looking for a fight.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Glacier didn’t look particularly pleased, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “This should be fun.”

Pathfinder turned, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on. Let’s see what the others think.”

Sunbeam shot Serenade a quick, hopeful glance. Serenade simply strummed his fingers lightly over the edge of his guitar and smiled. “Well,” he murmured, “this will be interesting.”

Chapter Text

The moment they stepped into the camp, the chatter and laughter of the group died down. Eyes turned toward the newcomers—three strangers who, in the dead of night, had crossed into their territory.

Ironheart was the first to stand, her hand instinctively drifting to the hilt of her weapon. She squared her shoulders, her sharp gaze assessing the trio with cold precision.

Wildfire, leaning against a nearby tree, straightened up, his grin fading as he crossed his arms. “Well, look who decided to wander in.”

Lorekeeper, sitting near the campfire with his journal, lifted an eyebrow but stayed silent, watching the new arrivals closely.

Rascal and Whisper, the chaos twins, immediately exchanged glances, their mischievous energy palpable. They weren’t ready to cause trouble, but it was clear they were curious about the situation, eyes twinkling with unspoken questions.

And then there was Aurora.

Sitting quietly near the edge of the camp, her icy presence seemed to exude a silent, watchful authority. She studied the newcomers for a long moment, her gaze calculating, before she gave a subtle nod to Ironheart.

Ironheart took a step forward, her gaze flicking between Sunbeam, Serenade, and Ember. “Who are you, and why are you here?” she asked, her voice direct.

Ember immediately stiffened, her protective instincts flaring again. But Sunbeam gently placed a hand on her arm, her calming presence immediately quelling the tension.

“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” Sunbeam said, her tone warm and open, but firm. “We’ve been traveling for a while now. We—” She hesitated, glancing briefly at Serenade.

Serenade, sensing the weight of the moment, spoke up. “We’re looking for answers. For a place we can rest, but also for something else…” He hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.

Ironheart’s eyes narrowed. “Answers about what?”

Sunbeam took a slow breath, her voice steady. “About who we are.”

A sudden silence filled the air. Even Wildfire, who usually didn’t care much for anyone's business, seemed intrigued.

Serenade continued. “We’ve lost our memories. All of us.” He gestured to the three of them, each of them visibly carrying the weight of forgotten pasts. “We don’t remember where we came from, why we’re here, or even what happened to us. Just like you, I imagine.”

Lorekeeper set his journal down, the weight of their words clearly affecting him. “You’ve lost your memories?” he asked, his voice soft, almost sympathetic.

Sunbeam nodded. “It’s like… waking up one day and finding yourself in a world that doesn’t make sense. You have fragments, flashes of things you know, but nothing that’s whole. It’s like a puzzle with all the pieces scattered.”

Aurora’s gaze softened slightly at her words, though she said nothing. There was something about their situation that resonated with her own quiet, unspoken grief.

Ironheart’s stance relaxed ever so slightly, though her eyes were still filled with caution. “So… you’re in the same boat as us.”

Serenade nodded slowly. “It seems that way. We’ve been searching for something—anything—that can help us understand. And we heard about this place, so… here we are.”

Rascal suddenly broke the silence, his voice lighthearted, though still laced with curiosity. “So you’re saying you’ve got no idea who you are, or where you came from? Sounds like we’ve got a lot in common. I mean, I can barely remember breakfast half the time.”

Whisper swatted at him playfully. “You’re an idiot, Rascal.”

Sunbeam smiled faintly, appreciating the levity. “It’s… harder than it sounds. Not remembering anything at all.”

Wildfire, still crossing his arms, tilted his head. “So, what exactly do you want from us? If you don’t know anything about your past, why come here?”

Ember stepped forward slightly, her protective energy still palpable. “We’re not asking for pity. We just need to know we’re not the only ones who’ve lost everything.”

Lorekeeper’s eyes softened, his voice quiet but earnest. “I understand. We’ve all been through it—losing ourselves, losing pieces of who we were. It’s not easy. But this camp… this place, it’s where we’ve found a little bit of peace. We can try to help you find some answers, too.”

Ironheart glanced at Aurora, who had been silent throughout most of the conversation, before giving a small nod. “We’ll keep an eye on you. But know this—we don’t trust easily. Not after everything.”

Sunbeam nodded, not offended by the caution. “We wouldn’t expect you to. But we’re not here to hurt anyone.”

Aurora finally spoke, her voice soft but carrying the weight of her experiences. “No one can outrun their past forever. But maybe we can help each other find a way forward.”

It was a simple sentiment, but it struck a chord with everyone. The weight of their shared loss, their collective confusion and pain, seemed to hang in the air for a moment.

Serenade, ever the optimist, smiled faintly. “Maybe this is the beginning of something… better.”

Rascal gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up. “You got that right, buddy. After all, we’re all in this together now, right?”

Whisper snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Group hug later.”

Sunbeam chuckled softly, the warmth of her laughter spreading through the camp like sunlight breaking through a cloud. “Thanks for accepting us. For giving us a chance.”

Ironheart’s sharp gaze softened, though she didn’t let her guard down entirely. “We don’t have to like it. But we’ll work together. For now.”

After the initial tension had settled, Sunbeam, Serenade, and Ember followed Ironheart and the others deeper into the camp. The fire crackled warmly at the center, casting long shadows on the faces of the group. The soft murmur of conversation resumed, but the air still held an unspoken curiosity as the newcomers settled into their new surroundings.

Wildfire, unable to resist, leaned back against a tree and folded his arms, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, now that we’ve got the serious stuff out of the way, let’s hear about how three strangers wandered into our lives. I’m dying to know the story.”

Sunbeam glanced over at Serenade and Ember, offering a small smile. Serenade nodded in agreement, and Ember, though still somewhat protective, relaxed a little as she sat down by the fire.

Pathfinder, always ready to add a bit of levity, settled beside them. “You’ve piqued Wildfire’s curiosity, and trust me, you don’t want that.”

Sunbeam chuckled softly and gave a small, knowing nod. “I suppose it’s only fair to share. We’ve told you a bit about our memory loss, but the rest… well, it’s a bit of a journey.”

Ember leaned back slightly, her eyes scanning the faces around the camp. She hadn’t expected to share their story so soon, but maybe, just maybe, it was time.

Serenade began, his tone light and thoughtful, as though the memory was still fresh in his mind. “We didn’t exactly meet under ideal circumstances. You could say it was more of an accident… a series of accidents, really.”

Rascal snorted, his grin wide. “Accidents, huh? Sounds like my kind of story.”

Sunbeam smiled at the playful remark before continuing. “It started when I woke up, alone, in the middle of a thick part of the forest. I couldn’t remember who I was, what I was doing there, or even how long I’d been out. But I wasn’t completely alone. There was this feeling, you know? Like I wasn’t supposed to be by myself.”

Her voice softened as she spoke, the vulnerability showing despite her calm demeanor. “I wandered for a while, hoping to find something that made sense. And that’s when I met him.” She gestured to Serenade, who smiled warmly.

“I was playing my guitar,” Serenade explained, his tone light but there was a depth to his words. “Just strumming a few chords. I didn’t know why, but it felt like the music was the only thing I could trust. When I heard her moving through the trees, I thought I’d imagined it. But she was real—looking lost, just like me.”

“I was about to leave when I heard the music,” Sunbeam added. “At first, I thought it was a hallucination. But then I saw him, just sitting there with that guitar of his.” She shot Serenade a playful look. “I swear, I was so relieved to find someone else. It was like… meeting an old friend, even though I didn’t know them.”

“Music has that effect,” Serenade said with a small grin.

Ember shifted slightly, her arms folded over her chest. “I wasn’t exactly there to be a part of their reunion. I was looking for something to fight, to be honest.” She shot a quick glance at the camp, noticing the way the others listened attentively. “But I’m not one to leave people behind. Even if I wasn’t sure what I was getting into, I stayed. Eventually, the three of us started to travel together, searching for any answers.”

Lorekeeper, ever the thinker, tilted his head thoughtfully. “And along the way, did you find anything? Clues?”

Ember shook her head. “No. But we found each other. And that’s about as much as we could ask for. It wasn’t much at first—just the three of us wandering through forests, dealing with whatever came our way.” She paused, her eyes darkening with the weight of unspoken memories. “But along the way, I started realizing I couldn’t do it alone. I needed them.”

“That’s when we started sticking together,” Sunbeam added, looking at Serenade and Ember with a soft smile. “We all have our reasons for staying close. And I think… I think that’s why we ended up here. Together, we’re stronger. Even if none of us knows what happened before.”

Wildfire raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’ve been wandering around lost, no memories, and you just happened to find us? You didn’t have any kind of plan?”

Serenade shrugged, a grin on his face. “A plan? Nah. Who needs a plan when you have good company and a guitar?”

Ember chuckled, despite herself. “You and your music. It’s all you talk about sometimes.”

Pathfinder leaned back, watching them all with interest. “So, you ended up here, with us, because… you think we have the answers?”

Sunbeam met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe not answers, but we’ve heard enough about this place to know it could be a place to stop and breathe for a while. Maybe even find out why we’re all here.”

Ironheart’s gaze softened as she observed the trio. “It’s strange… how so many of us ended up in the same situation, with no memories to guide us. And yet, we’ve all managed to find each other. It’s as if something—or someone—brought us all together.”

“There’s something bigger at play here,” Lorekeeper agreed. “Something we still don’t understand.”

Glacier, who had been leaning against a tree quietly, finally spoke up. His voice was steady, though there was a flicker of protectiveness behind his words. “We don’t know what’s going on, and we might never know. But for now, we’re in this together.”

Whisper added in, his usual playful tone tinged with seriousness, “Yeah, yeah. Group therapy session later. But right now, I think it’s time we get some rest. There’s a lot ahead of us tomorrow.”

The camp quieted down as the last of the conversation settled into a comfortable lull. Ember, though still cautious, found herself relaxing for the first time in a while. They weren’t entirely alone. They weren’t the only ones struggling with their pasts. And that, perhaps, was a small comfort.

As the fire flickered and the camp began to settle, Sunbeam, Serenade, and Ember found their places among the group—each of them carrying a small spark of hope they hadn’t felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

The firelight cast long, flickering shadows across the clearing, and though the tension hadn’t vanished completely, something had begun to shift. The newcomers hadn’t been sent away. They hadn’t been challenged or distrusted outright. That alone was a start.

Now, they just had to figure out how to belong.

Sunbeam sat on a fallen log near the fire, her knees pulled up slightly as she watched the others move around camp. She smiled politely at every look her way, though the weight of unfamiliarity still lingered on her shoulders.

“Hey,” a voice said from beside her.

She looked up to see Pathfinder, offering a worn, handmade cup with something warm and sweet-smelling inside.

“Figured you could use something hot. We don’t have much, but Whisper makes this tea with some herbs she found. Calms the nerves.”

Sunbeam accepted the cup with a smile. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

Pathfinder gave a small, self-deprecating shrug and sat a short distance away. “It’s… weird, right? Being surrounded by people you don’t know, even when they’re trying their best not to seem like strangers.”

Sunbeam nodded slowly. “It is. But it’s also comforting, somehow. Like… the people here are pieces of something I was meant to find.” She paused. “Even if I don’t know what.”

Across the camp, Serenade had somehow found himself between Rascal and Whisper, who were busy arguing—again—about whose turn it was to keep watch.

“You owe me,” Rascal insisted. “I took your shift last night when you fell asleep mid-sentence.”

“I was meditating,” Whisper corrected.

“You were snoring.”

“Peacefully.”

Serenade grinned. “Do you two do this every day, or is this a special show for the new guy?”

Whisper smirked. “We do it every day. You’re just lucky enough to witness greatness.”

Rascal leaned back on his elbows, watching Serenade with squinted eyes. “You play anything besides that fancy lovebird stuff? You look like the type who writes songs about moonlight and heartbreak.”

“I’ve got range,” Serenade replied smoothly. “I could probably write something about you.”

“Please don’t,” Whisper muttered.

“Too late,” Serenade said, plucking a lazy chord. “Rascal the Wild, with a mess in his hair—lives off of trouble and stolen bear snares—”

“Hey!” Rascal yelped. “Those snares were salvaged!”

Nearby, Pathfinder and Ironheart watched the exchange with amusement.

“They’re already fitting in better than I thought,” Pathfinder muttered, crossing his arms.

Ironheart gave a slow nod. “Serenade’s harmless. Sunbeam… seems earnest.”

“And the third?”

Ironheart didn’t answer right away.

Ember stood at the camp’s edge, her back to the fire, eyes scanning the trees. Even now, she remained the outlier—protective, distant, coiled like a spring.

It was Aurora who approached her, silent as snowfall.

“You don’t trust us,” Aurora said plainly.

Ember’s hand rested near her bow, but she didn’t reach for it. “I don’t trust anything.”

Aurora nodded as if she understood perfectly. “Neither do I. But I haven’t left.”

There was a pause.

Ember glanced at her. “You don’t look like someone who stays where they’re not in control.”

“I don’t,” Aurora agreed. “But this place… there’s something about it. Something quiet and dangerous and beautiful. I don’t remember who I was, but I know I used to hide everything I felt. Here, I don’t have to—not all the time.”

Ember didn’t respond. But for the first time, she didn’t turn away.

Later that night, the camp had settled into a rhythm. People drifted to their tents and lean-tos. The fire burned low.

Sunbeam sat with Lorekeeper, watching the flames flicker.

“Do you remember… anything?” she asked softly.

Lorekeeper nodded. “Flashes. Sounds. Names I can’t place. Sometimes I’ll wake up knowing a plant’s healing properties or the difference between two kinds of dragon bones, but I don’t know why I know them. It’s like my head is full of facts without a story to hold them together.”

Sunbeam looked down at her hands. “Same. I know how to read the stars. I can feel heat in my skin when I concentrate too hard. But I don’t know where it comes from.”

Lorekeeper smiled gently. “You’re not alone. None of us are. We’re all trying to stitch together something from the scraps.”

She glanced across the camp. Ember had finally sat beside the fire, quietly listening to Serenade, who was now teaching Whisper a simple chord progression. Glacier lingered nearby, watching Pathfinder talk with Ironheart, not saying anything—but not leaving either.

They were all fragments. But maybe, slowly, they were learning how to fit together.

And in the middle of this quiet, broken place, something new was beginning to take root.

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since the trio had joined the camp. In that time, the uneasy air between newcomers and the original group had thinned—never quite disappearing, but shifting into a cautious rhythm of coexistence. Routines were forming. Roles were emerging. And questions still loomed.

No one had remembered more than scattered fragments. No full names. No families. Just feelings. Instinct. Muscle memory.

And the ever-present whisper in the trees that something out there was watching.

Which was why Pathfinder had gathered the four of them—himself, Ironheart, Glacier, and Ember—just past dawn, in the clearing at the edge of camp.

Pathfinder adjusted the leather straps on his makeshift shoulder armor and checked the compass he had been fiddling with for weeks. The needle still spun irregularly, occasionally locking in one direction before twitching again. But it was better than nothing.

“We’ll scout east,” he said, tapping the compass face. “Along the ridge where we lost the signal yesterday. If the terrain’s shifted again, I want to know why.”

Ironheart tightened her bracers, sharp-eyed and already alert despite the early hour. “Same thing as last time?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“You take point,” Pathfinder replied. “I’ll chart. Glacier has rear. Ember… flank.”

Ember gave a curt nod. She hadn’t said much that morning, but her expression said enough: focused, ready, and just a little impatient. The forest still made her restless. Being in motion helped.

Glacier, leaning against a frost-tipped birch with his staff slung across his shoulders, yawned dramatically. “It’s too early for this,” he muttered, though his eyes were alert and far more calculating than his tone suggested.

Ember shot him a sidelong glance. “You don’t have to come.”

“Please,” Glacier replied coolly, pushing off the tree. “I’d hate to miss the joy of being nearly impaled by suspicious root traps again. Besides, someone has to keep you from setting the entire forest on fire with your temper.”

Ember didn’t respond—just rolled her eyes and stalked ahead.

Pathfinder’s brow furrowed slightly, but he let it pass. The tension between the two of them wasn’t explosive—yet—but it simmered just under the surface.

Ironheart moved in beside Pathfinder as they started walking. “They’ll get used to each other.”

“Or kill each other,” Pathfinder muttered.

Ironheart gave a half-smile. “That’s also a form of bonding.”

They made their way through the underbrush, the trail growing thinner as they entered the deeper, older part of the woods. The canopy above thickened, blotting out the rising sun, and the silence began to press in around them.

The forest here felt different—wrong. The birds had stopped singing.

Glacier’s breath formed a cloud as he whispered, “It’s colder here.”

Ember knelt by a patch of disturbed moss, her hand brushing over a deep, unnatural groove carved into the dirt. “Something’s been through here. Not an animal. Too clean.”

Pathfinder joined her, inspecting the cut. “Same direction the compass locked onto last night.”

Ironheart looked around, hand on her axe. “Whatever it was, it’s definitely not an animal.”

Glacier rested his staff against his shoulder and peered into the distance, his ice-blue eyes narrowed. “There’s something wrong here.”

“Like it’s watching us,” Ember muttered.

A long moment passed before anyone spoke again.

Then Pathfinder straightened and said, “We go another half mile. Then we mark it and come back. No risks. Not until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Ironheart nodded. Ember gave a brief grunt of agreement. Glacier simply twirled his staff once and walked forward.

The forest seemed to swallow them as they pressed on—four shadows moving deeper into a world that seemed to remember something even if they didn’t.

And just ahead, past the darkened trees, something stirred…