The Forest of the Forgotten

Chapter Eleven

Amnity was elbow-deep in organizing her festival booth when she heard footsteps on the path to her cottage. She looked up from the wooden crates she'd been arranging, her heart doing a small skip when she saw Ellie approaching through the dappled afternoon light.

But something was off about the way Ellie moved—too controlled, too measured, like she was consciously thinking about each step. It reminded Amnity uncomfortably of the way Ellie had walked through that overwhelming city, alert and assessing everything around her.

"You got my letter," Amnity said, straightening up and brushing dust from her apron. She'd spent the morning carefully packing her healing draughts and salves into padded boxes, arranging everything so it would display beautifully at tonight's festival. The Glowing Imp Root potion sat in a place of honor, glowing softly through its dark glass bottle like captured starlight.

"I did." Ellie's voice was steady, but there was something underneath it that made Amnity's stomach clench with worry. "Thank you for the invitation. I'd like to go with you tonight. As your date."

The words should have made Amnity's heart soar. She'd been hoping, dreaming of this moment for months. But the way Ellie said it—flat, almost clinical—made it feel less like an acceptance and more like checking an item off a list.

"That's wonderful," Amnity said carefully, studying Ellie's face. "I'm glad. I was worried you might be too distracted by... everything else."

Ellie's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I can handle both things at once."

"I didn't mean—" Amnity started, then stopped herself. This brittle, defensive version of Ellie was new territory, and she wasn't sure how to navigate it. "Would you like to help me finish setting up? I could use another pair of hands with the heavy crates."

For a moment, Ellie's expression softened slightly. "Of course."

They worked in relative silence, carrying boxes and setting up the wooden display boards that would hold Amnity's wares. But even as Ellie helped arrange bottles and jars with practiced efficiency, Amnity could feel the tension radiating from her like heat from a forge. Every movement was precise, controlled, as if Ellie were afraid that relaxing her guard even slightly might let something dangerous escape.

"The potion turned out perfectly," Amnity offered, hoping to break through whatever wall Ellie had built around herself. "Look at the color—it's exactly what Grandmother's notes said it should be."

She held up the bottle containing the Glowing Imp Root draught, and the liquid inside pulsed with gentle bioluminescence, casting dancing patterns of light across their faces. It had taken her three days of careful brewing, but the result was everything she'd hoped for—a healing draught powerful enough to mend broken bones, cure fevers, even ease the deep magic-sickness that sometimes afflicted mirror-walkers.

Ellie glanced at the bottle, but her attention seemed to drift almost immediately. "It's beautiful," she said, but the words felt automatic, like she was saying what she thought Amnity wanted to hear rather than what she actually felt.

The hollow praise stung more than outright criticism would have. Amnity set the bottle down carefully, her hands trembling slightly.

"What did Eleazar tell you?" she asked quietly.

Ellie's hands stilled on the box she'd been unpacking. "Enough."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer I'm giving you right now." Ellie's voice carried a sharp edge that Amnity had never heard before. "Can we please just focus on getting ready for tonight? I said I'd go with you, and I meant it. Isn't that enough?"

Amnity stared at her best friend—her date, apparently—and felt a cold knot forming in her stomach. This person helping her set up festival displays looked like Ellie, sounded like Ellie, but acted like someone wearing Ellie's face as a disguise.

"No," Amnity said quietly. "No, it's not enough."

Ellie looked up sharply, her dark eyes flashing with something that might have been anger or might have been pain. "What do you want from me, Amnity?"

"I want you to stop acting like I'm a stranger you're being polite to," Amnity shot back, her own patience finally fraying. "I want you to stop pretending that everything is fine when you're clearly falling apart inside. I want you to talk to me like I'm someone you actually care about instead of someone you're just tolerating."

The words hung between them like a challenge. Around them, the peaceful afternoon sounds of Nova continued—birds calling, wind stirring the leaves, the distant sound of other festival-goers preparing for the evening's celebration. But in the space between the two girls, the silence felt heavy and brittle.

Ellie set down the box she'd been holding and ran her hands through her hair, the controlled mask slipping for just a moment to reveal the exhaustion underneath.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice smaller than before. "I'm not... I'm not handling any of this very well."

"What did he tell you?" Amnity asked again, gentler this time.

Ellie looked out toward the forest, toward the path that led to The Hole and all its secrets. "He told me that I wasn't found. I was taken." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He told me that somewhere in that world we visited, there are people who probably spent years looking for me. People who loved me and lost me and never knew what happened."

The confession hit Amnity like a physical blow. She sank down onto one of the wooden crates, her legs suddenly unsteady.

"He stole you," she breathed.

"He says he saved me," Ellie corrected, but there was no conviction in her voice. "He says my original family was... complicated. Dangerous. He says he was protecting me."

"Do you believe him?"

Ellie was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on something Amnity couldn't see. "I don't know what to believe anymore. I keep thinking about that world, about how familiar it felt, how right it felt to be there. And then I think about this life, about you and Nova and everything I've built here, and I don't know which one is real."

She turned to look at Amnity directly for the first time since arriving, and Amnity was startled by the raw vulnerability in her eyes.

"I keep thinking about the person I might have been," Ellie continued. "The life I might have lived. The family I might have had. And I know it's not fair to you or anyone else, but I can't stop wondering what I lost when Eleazar decided to 'save' me."

Amnity felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. This was the Ellie she recognized—uncertain, hurt, but honest about her pain instead of hiding behind brittle politeness.

"I'm sorry," Amnity said. "I'm sorry this is happening to you, and I'm sorry I didn't understand what you were going through."

Ellie managed a weak smile. "You couldn't have understood. I didn't understand it myself until yesterday."

They sat in silence for a while, surrounded by the carefully arranged displays for tonight's festival. The healing potions glowed softly in their bottles, the dried herbs filled the air with their comforting scents, and everything looked exactly as it should for a perfect evening of celebration.

But Amnity couldn't shake the feeling that they were both just playing roles now—festival vendor and supportive date—while the real questions about identity, belonging, and what it meant to love someone whose entire history had been built on lies remained carefully unexamined.

"We should finish setting up," Ellie said eventually, standing and brushing off her pants. "The festival starts at sunset, doesn't it?"

Amnity nodded, watching as Ellie picked up another box and began arranging its contents with the same mechanical precision as before. The moment of vulnerability was over, the walls back up, the careful distance restored.

But as they worked side by side in the golden afternoon light, Amnity couldn't help wondering which version of tonight they were preparing for—the romantic evening she'd imagined when she wrote her letter, or something else entirely. Something that felt more like a goodbye than a beginning.

The festival would be beautiful, she was sure of it. The question was whether either of them would be present enough to actually enjoy it.

Chapter Twelve

The Great Meadow transformed as the sun set, blooming into something magical under the light of Nova's full moon. Dozens of vendors had spread their wares along winding paths marked by glowing crystal lanterns, creating a maze of wonder that drew visitors deeper into the celebration. The air hummed with laughter, music, and the gentle chime of wind bells hanging from every stall.

Amnity's booth was perfectly positioned near the center of the meadow, her healing potions catching the moonlight and casting rainbow patterns across the wooden display table. She'd dressed carefully for the evening—a flowing dress in deep green that brought out her eyes, her hair braided with small silver bells that chimed softly when she moved. She looked beautiful, festive, ready for the romantic evening she'd been dreaming of for months.

Ellie, standing beside her in a simple blue dress that Amnity had picked out, looked like she was attending a funeral.

"Try the honey wine," Amnity suggested for the third time, holding out a cup of the golden liquid that sparkled with its own inner light. "It's from the northern settlements, and it's supposed to be incredible this year."

Ellie accepted the cup but barely sipped it, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd as if looking for threats or escape routes. The easy joy that usually lit up her face at festivals was nowhere to be seen, replaced by the same controlled wariness she'd worn in the city.

A elderly woman approached their booth, her gnarled hands reaching for one of Amnity's fever-reducing draughts. "My grandson's been sick for days," she said, her voice heavy with worry. "The healers in town say it's just a seasonal thing, but..."

"This will help," Amnity assured her, wrapping the bottle carefully in soft cloth. "Give him three drops in warm tea, twice a day. He should be feeling better by morning."

The woman's face lit up with relief as she pressed coins into Amnity's palm. "Bless you, dear. You're doing important work."

Ellie watched the exchange with a detached expression, as if observing strangers conducting business in a foreign language. When the woman walked away, clutching her precious healing draught, Amnity turned to Ellie with bright eyes.

"Did you see her face? That's why I do this, why I spend weeks gathering ingredients and brewing potions. To help people, to make them feel hope again." She gestured to her display of glowing bottles. "This is what matters, Ellie. This connection, this community."

"I see it," Ellie said quietly. But her tone suggested she was seeing something entirely different—perhaps calculating how much profit Amnity was making, or wondering why anyone would trust remedies from someone they barely knew. The cynical thoughts felt foreign in her head, but she couldn't shake them.

Music drifted across the meadow from the central dancing area, where couples swayed under strings of fairy lights. The melody was sweet and nostalgic, the kind of song that usually made Ellie want to dance until her feet hurt.

"Should we..." Amnity started, then trailed off as she saw Ellie's expression. "Or we could look at the other vendors? There's a woman from the eastern settlements who makes the most beautiful jewelry."

They wandered through the festival together, but apart. Amnity pointed out wonders with forced enthusiasm—crystallized flowers that chimed like bells, scarves that changed color with the wearer's emotions, books that wrote themselves based on the reader's dreams. Ellie nodded and made appropriate sounds, but her mind was elsewhere.

She kept thinking about the city, about the way strangers had moved past each other without seeing, without caring. About how people there bought things they didn't need with money they'd earned from jobs they hated, all while living lives that felt somehow more real than this gentle fantasy of community and magic.

"Ellie?" Amnity's voice cut through her brooding. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

They'd stopped in front of a booth selling musical instruments, and Amnity was holding a small flute carved from what looked like crystallized moonlight. The vendor, a young man with kind eyes, was explaining how the instrument would play different melodies depending on the player's mood.

"I'm sorry," Ellie said automatically. "It's beautiful."

Amnity set the flute down carefully, her movements sharp with frustration. "We need to talk."

She led Ellie away from the crowds, toward the edge of the meadow where the festival lights gave way to the soft darkness of the forest. Here, the music became distant, the laughter muffled by trees and growing space.

"This isn't working," Amnity said, turning to face Ellie directly. "I asked you to be my date, and you said yes, but you're not actually here with me. You're somewhere else entirely, thinking about things I can't see and feeling things you won't share."

Ellie opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. The honest hurt in Amnity's voice cut through her defensive numbness like a blade.

"I don't know how to be here," she admitted finally. "I don't know how to pretend everything is normal when my entire life has been turned upside down. I don't know how to enjoy honey wine and dancing when I just found out that everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie."

"Then don't pretend," Amnity said fiercely. "Don't smile and nod and act like you're fine when you're clearly falling apart. Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling. Let me help you carry some of this weight instead of shutting me out."

Ellie stared at her, this beautiful, earnest girl who had spent weeks preparing for tonight, who had asked her on a date with such hope and vulnerability. Who deserved so much better than a broken person who couldn't even appreciate the magic happening all around them.

"What if I can't come back from this?" Ellie asked quietly. "What if learning the truth about where I came from changes me so fundamentally that I can't be the person you fell in love with anymore?"

Amnity was quiet for a long moment, considering the question seriously. Around them, the festival continued its gentle celebration, but here in their small pocket of darkness, the world felt suspended, waiting.

"Then I'll fall in love with the person you become," Amnity said finally. "But I can't love someone who won't let me see them. I can't build something real with someone who's hiding behind walls."

She reached out and took Ellie's hands, her fingers warm against Ellie's cold skin. "I know you're scared. I know everything feels uncertain right now. But pushing me away isn't going to make any of this easier."

Ellie felt something crack in her chest, some tight knot of control and fear loosening just slightly. "I keep thinking about the family I never knew," she whispered. "About the life I was supposed to have. And I feel guilty for mourning something I can't even remember, and angry at Eleazar for taking it from me, and terrified that maybe he was right to do it."

"That's a lot to carry alone," Amnity said gently.

"I don't want to burden you with it. You have your own life, your own work, your own dreams. You shouldn't have to fix my problems."

"I'm not trying to fix your problems," Amnity said. "I'm trying to love you through them. There's a difference."

They stood together in the soft darkness, hands clasped, while the sounds of celebration drifted around them. Slowly, carefully, Ellie let herself lean into Amnity's warmth, let herself accept the comfort being offered.

"I'm sorry I ruined our date," she murmured against Amnity's shoulder.

"You didn't ruin anything," Amnity said, stroking Ellie's hair. "But maybe next time, instead of pretending to be okay, you could just tell me you're not ready for festivals and dancing. We could have spent the evening talking, or sitting quietly, or doing whatever you actually needed."

Ellie pulled back to look at her. "And you would have been okay with that?"

"I'd rather have an honest evening with the real you than a perfect evening with someone pretending to be you," Amnity said simply.

From the central meadow, the music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Couples would be drawing closer now, swaying together under the stars. It was exactly the kind of romantic moment Amnity had imagined when she first thought about asking Ellie to be her date.

"Do you want to go back?" Ellie asked. "To the dancing? We could try to salvage some of the evening."

Amnity smiled, and for the first time all night, it reached her eyes. "Actually, I think I'd rather stay here with you. The real you. Even if she's complicated and hurting and figuring things out."

So they sat together at the edge of the meadow, close enough to hear the festival but far enough to feel alone with each other. They talked quietly about everything and nothing—Ellie's fears about her identity, Amnity's dreams for her healing work, the way the moonlight made the forest look like something from a fairy tale.

It wasn't the perfect romantic evening Amnity had planned, but as Ellie gradually relaxed against her shoulder and began to share the thoughts she'd been holding so carefully private, it felt like something better.

It felt real.

Chapter Thirteen

Ellie woke to the sound of gentle rain pattering against Amnity's cottage windows, a soft rhythm that felt like Nova welcoming her back to consciousness. She was still wearing her festival dress from the night before, though someone—Amnity—had draped a quilt over her where she'd fallen asleep on the small couch.

The events of the previous evening came back in fragments: the overwhelming brightness of the festival, her own brittle distance, the way Amnity's face had crumpled when she finally called her out. And then, later, sitting together at the edge of the meadow while Ellie had finally let some of her fears spill out into the darkness between them.

She could hear Amnity moving around in the kitchen, the familiar sounds of morning preparations—the soft clink of ceramic mugs, the whistle of the kettle, the rustle of dried herbs being measured. Safe, domestic sounds that made something tight in Ellie's chest loosen slightly.

"You're awake," Amnity said softly when Ellie appeared in the kitchen doorway, still wrapped in the quilt. There was no judgment in her voice, no lingering hurt from the difficult evening. Just quiet observation and the offer of a steaming mug of tea that smelled like chamomile and honey.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep on your couch," Ellie said, accepting the tea gratefully. The warmth seeped through the ceramic into her hands, grounding her in the present moment.

"You looked peaceful. I didn't want to wake you." Amnity settled into the chair across from her, cradling her own mug. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Ellie considered the question seriously, taking inventory of her internal state the way she might check for injuries after a fall. "Less like I'm going to shatter if someone touches me wrong," she said finally. "Thank you. For last night. For not giving up on me when I was being impossible."

"You weren't being impossible. You were being human." Amnity's smile was soft, understanding. "We all process difficult things differently. I just needed to understand what you were processing so I could figure out how to be helpful instead of accidentally making things worse."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the rain and sipping their tea. Through the kitchen window, Ellie could see the remnants of the festival in the distance—vendors packing up their wares, the fairy lights looking somehow forlorn in the gray morning light. It felt like looking at the aftermath of someone else's celebration, something she'd observed rather than truly participated in.

"I keep thinking about names," Ellie said suddenly, surprising herself with the admission. "About what mine might have been. Before."

Amnity set down her mug carefully. "Have you remembered anything specific?"

"Not remembered exactly. But sometimes, when I'm not trying to think about it, I hear something that feels familiar. Like an echo of someone calling for me." Ellie traced the rim of her mug with one finger, the motion soothing and repetitive. "In the city, when we were in that coffee shop, I heard teenagers talking about school and suddenly I could almost taste the word 'chemistry.' Not because I knew what it meant, but because someone had said it to me before. In a context that mattered."

"That must be confusing," Amnity said gently.

"It's like having a song stuck in your head, but you can only remember two notes." Ellie looked up from her tea, meeting Amnity's eyes directly. "I know this isn't fair to you. I know you didn't sign up for... whatever this is. This identity crisis, this obsession with a past I can't even remember properly."

Amnity reached across the small table and covered Ellie's free hand with her own. "What if we tried looking into it together?"

Ellie's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You want to help me investigate my past?"

"I want to help you find peace. If that means figuring out who you were before Eleazar brought you here, then yes, I want to help with that." Amnity's grip tightened slightly, anchoring. "You're not dealing with this alone anymore, remember? We decided that last night."

"But what if what we find changes everything? What if I discover I have family out there who've been looking for me for fifteen years? What if I decide I want to go back to them?"

The question hung in the air between them, honest and frightening. Amnity was quiet for a long moment, and Ellie could see her working through the implications, the possibilities, the very real chance that this investigation could lead to losing each other.

"Then that's a decision we'll face when we come to it," Amnity said finally. "But hiding from the truth won't make it go away, and it won't make you feel better. If anything, not knowing is eating you alive."

Ellie felt something shift inside her chest, a loosening of tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying. The relief of not having to face this alone was overwhelming.

"Where would we even start?" she asked.

"Well," Amnity said, settling back in her chair with the air of someone preparing for a long conversation. "We know you came from that world, and we know roughly how old you were when you arrived here. We know Eleazar has ways of traveling between worlds that don't rely on random weather portals. And we know he's been less than truthful about the circumstances of your arrival."

"So we go back to him and demand the full story."

"Or," Amnity said slowly, "we go back to that world and see if we can find the story ourselves. Without him controlling what we learn or how we learn it."

Ellie stared at her. "You want to go back to the city?"

"I want to help you find the answers you need. If that means dealing with loud noises and strange smells and people who don't look at each other when they pass on the street, then yes. I'm willing to do that."

The offer was so generous, so completely unexpected, that Ellie felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. After her behavior the night before, after shutting Amnity out and treating her like a stranger, Amnity was still here. Still willing to walk into an overwhelming, unfamiliar world because it might help Ellie find what she was looking for.

"You don't know what you're offering," Ellie said quietly. "That place, it's not like Nova. It's harsh and fast and full of people who would step over you if you fell down in front of them. It's not safe or gentle or kind."

"Maybe," Amnity said. "But it's part of you. And I want to understand all the parts of you, even the difficult ones."

Outside, the rain was beginning to ease, the gray clouds lifting to reveal patches of blue sky. The festival grounds were nearly cleared now, returned to ordinary meadow, but something had shifted in the small kitchen. A decision had been made, a path chosen.

"When?" Ellie asked.

"Whenever you're ready. Today, tomorrow, next week. We can take time to prepare, to plan what we're looking for and how we want to approach it." Amnity paused, then added with a small smile, "Though I might need to brew some courage potions first. That world of yours is intimidating."

Ellie laughed, the first genuine laugh she'd managed since returning from her confrontation with Eleazar. "I think I love you," she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Amnity's smile broadened, warm and bright as sunlight breaking through clouds. "I think I love you too. All of you. Even the parts you're still figuring out."

And for the first time since learning the truth about her origins, Ellie felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

Chapter Fourteen

The Council of Shadows met in the hollow of an ancient oak tree so massive that its interior could house a dozen people comfortably. Amnity had been here only twice before—once when she'd first been recognized as a healer worthy of official notice, and once when she'd requested permission to gather rare ingredients from the protected groves. Both times, the experience had left her feeling small and overwhelmed by the weight of tradition and authority that seemed to seep from the very walls.

Today, as she approached the tree's entrance in the pre-dawn darkness, she felt different. Still nervous, but resolute in a way that surprised her.

The Council consisted of five figures, each representing a different aspect of Nova's governance. They sat in carved chairs that seemed to grow directly from the living wood of the tree's interior, their faces partially obscured by the play of shadow and filtered light that gave the Council its name. Amnity had never seen them in full daylight—it was said that the Council of Shadows operated in the spaces between certainty and doubt, making decisions that required wisdom beyond what harsh clarity could provide.

"Amnity of the Healing Arts," spoke Councilor Meren, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had guided Nova through decades of change. "You requested an emergency audience. What matter brings you before us with such urgency?"

Amnity straightened her shoulders, drawing strength from the memory of Ellie's grateful smile when she'd offered to help with the investigation. "I wish to request temporary leave from my duties to Nova. I need to travel to another world."

The silence that followed was so complete that Amnity could hear the soft rustling of leaves far above them in the tree's canopy. She'd expected surprise, questions, perhaps concern. She hadn't expected the weight of that silence to feel so judgmental.

"Another world," repeated Councilor Thane, his tone carefully neutral. "May we ask the nature of this journey?"

"It's personal. Someone I care about needs to find answers about their past, and those answers exist in a world that can only be reached through mirror travel." Amnity had practiced this explanation, trying to find a way to be truthful without revealing Ellie's complicated history or Eleazar's secrets.

"Someone you care about," said Councilor Vera, leaning forward slightly. "Would this be Ellie, the ward of Eleazar the Collector?"

The fact that they knew immediately who she meant shouldn't have surprised Amnity—the Council of Shadows made it their business to know the connections and relationships that wove through Nova's communities. But it still made her feel exposed, as if her private feelings were being examined under harsh light.

"Yes."

"And you believe this journey is necessary?" asked Councilor Meren.

"I believe that the person I love is in pain, and that pain comes from not knowing who she truly is. If I can help ease that pain, then yes, I believe it's necessary."

Councilor Dain, who had been silent until now, shifted in his chair. "Mirror travel to unknown worlds is dangerous, child. Especially for someone with no experience in dimensional navigation. You could become lost between realities, or arrive in a world hostile to your very existence."

"I'm aware of the risks," Amnity said, though hearing them laid out so bluntly made her stomach clench with anxiety. "But I'm also aware that some things are worth risking safety for."

"And what of your responsibilities here?" asked Councilor Thane. "You are one of our most skilled healers. The people of Nova depend on your knowledge and your abilities. How can you justify abandoning those duties for a personal quest?"

The question hit harder than Amnity had expected. She thought of the elderly woman at the festival, clutching her fever remedy with such gratitude. Of the children in the lower settlements who relied on her healing draughts. Of all the people who might need her help while she was gone.

"I'm not abandoning anything," she said firmly. "I'm requesting temporary leave. I've trained three apprentices who are capable of handling most common ailments. I've left detailed instructions for brewing the more complex remedies. And I've prepared enough stock of essential medicines to last several months."

"But you cannot guarantee when you'll return," pressed Councilor Vera. "Or if you'll return."

The words hung in the air like a challenge. Amnity felt the weight of their concern, their skepticism, their protective instincts toward Nova and its people. But underneath that, she also sensed something else—a testing quality, as if they were waiting to see how committed she truly was to this course of action.

"No," she admitted. "I can't guarantee that. But I can promise that I'm not making this decision lightly. I've considered the consequences, prepared for the worst-case scenarios, and made arrangements for my responsibilities here. This isn't a whim or an adventure. It's something I need to do."

Councilor Meren studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the shifting shadows. "You speak of love as if it justifies any risk, any sacrifice. But love can cloud judgment as easily as it can inspire courage. How do we know you're seeing this situation clearly?"

Amnity took a breath, thinking about everything that had led to this moment—Ellie's pain at the festival, her withdrawn behavior, the way she'd looked when talking about the life she might have lived.

"Because I've seen what not knowing is doing to her," she said quietly. "I've watched someone I care about tear herself apart with questions that have no answers, guilt over a past she can't remember, and fear that she's somehow broken or incomplete. I've seen her pull away from everyone who loves her because she doesn't know if she deserves that love or if it's built on false foundations."

Her voice grew stronger as she continued. "You ask about my judgment, about whether love is clouding my vision. But I think love is what's helping me see clearly. I can't heal her pain with herbs and potions. The only cure for her suffering is truth, and if that truth exists in another world, then that's where we need to go."

The Council members exchanged looks, some unspoken communication passing between them. Finally, Councilor Meren spoke.

"Your request is unusual, Amnity of the Healing Arts. We have rarely granted leave for personal quests to other worlds, especially when those worlds are unknown and potentially dangerous." She paused, and Amnity held her breath. "However, your dedication to your craft and your community has been exemplary. Your preparations for your absence show consideration for your responsibilities. And your reasons, while personal, are not frivolous."

Amnity felt her heart begin to race.

"We grant you temporary leave, with the understanding that you travel at your own risk and that Nova cannot offer aid if you become lost or endangered in other worlds. You will carry with you our hopes for your safe return, but not our protection."

Relief flooded through Amnity so powerfully that she almost swayed on her feet. "Thank you. All of you. I won't disappoint your trust."

"See that you don't," said Councilor Thane, but his tone was gentler now. "And see that you both return safely. Nova will be diminished by the loss of either of you."

As Amnity left the hollow of the ancient oak, stepping back into the gray light of early morning, she felt the full weight of what she'd just committed to settle on her shoulders. She'd officially severed her obligations to Nova, at least temporarily. There was no backing out now, no changing her mind when the reality of interdimensional travel became too frightening.

But as she walked back toward her cottage, where Ellie was probably just waking up and wondering what the day would bring, Amnity found that the weight didn't feel burdensome. It felt like freedom.

The freedom to choose love over safety, adventure over comfort, truth over the pleasant illusions that kept life simple and predictable.

She had work to do—final preparations to make, supplies to gather, courage to summon. Because in a few days, she would be stepping through a mirror into a world that had no place for magic or gentle kindness, armed with nothing but her determination to help the person she loved find peace.

It was terrifying and exhilarating and completely unlike anything she'd ever imagined for herself.

She couldn't wait.

Chapter Fifteen

Ellie hadn't planned on saying goodbye to anyone. The plan had been simple: prepare the mirrors, wait for Amnity to finish with the Council, and slip quietly into another world in search of answers about a past she couldn't remember. Clean, efficient, uncomplicated by sentiment or second thoughts.

But Nova had other plans.

She was walking through the market district, mentally cataloging the supplies they'd need for their journey, when she heard a familiar laugh cut through the general din of vendors and shoppers. Pasley's laugh—rough and genuine, the kind that made everyone around them smile whether they wanted to or not.

Ellie found herself drawn toward the sound before she'd consciously decided to seek it out. There, at a fruit vendor's stall, Pasley was haggling with exaggerated drama over the price of summer berries, their weathered hands gesturing wildly while the vendor tried unsuccessfully to maintain a stern expression.

"Pasley," Ellie called out, and immediately regretted it when those sharp eyes turned her way, lighting up with recognition and something that looked like relief.

"Ellie! Where have you been hiding, girl? I haven't seen you in weeks." Pasley abandoned their negotiation—the vendor looked grateful—and pulled Ellie into a brief, fierce hug that smelled like pipe smoke and the wild herbs that grew near their cabin. "You look different. Troubled."

"I'm fine," Ellie said automatically, but Pasley's skeptical eyebrow told her that lie wasn't going to fly.

"Fine like a tree's fine right before it falls in a storm, maybe." Pasley studied her face with the intensity of someone who'd known her since she was small enough to hide behind Eleazar's robes. "What's eating at you?"

Ellie opened her mouth to deflect, to offer some pleasant excuse that would let her escape this conversation. But looking at Pasley—really looking at them for the first time in months—she was struck by a memory so vivid it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

She'd been seven, maybe eight, and she'd tried to pick Pasley's pocket as practice. Eleazar had been teaching her the finer points of sleight-of-hand, and Pasley had seemed like a good target—distracted, weighed down with packages from the market. Except Pasley had caught her hand mid-theft, and instead of being angry, had laughed until tears ran down their weathered cheeks.

"You're Eleazar's little shadow, aren't you?" they'd said, still holding her small wrist gently but firmly. "Tell you what—if you're going to learn thievery, you should at least learn to do it properly. Your footwork's all wrong."

And then Pasley had spent the next hour teaching her the correct way to approach a mark, to read body language, to disappear into crowds. Not because they approved of stealing, but because, as they'd explained, "If you're going to do something risky, might as well do it right so you don't get caught and break Eleazar's heart."

That had been the beginning. Over the years, Pasley had become something Nova's formal structures didn't quite have a word for—not quite family, not quite mentor, but something in between. Someone who showed up when things got difficult, who asked hard questions and accepted honest answers, who had taught her as much about surviving in Nova as Eleazar ever had.

"I'm leaving," Ellie heard herself say, the words escaping before she could stop them. "For a while. Maybe longer. I don't know."

Pasley's expression shifted, surprise giving way to understanding and then something that looked like sadness. "The other world. The one that's been eating at you since you got back from wherever you and Amnity disappeared to."

It wasn't a question. Pasley had always been observant, always able to read the currents beneath the surface.

"How did you—"

"You came back different, girl. Everyone noticed. You move different, talk different, look at things like you're seeing them for the first time even though you've lived here your whole life." Pasley's voice was gentle, lacking any accusation. "Or maybe like you're trying to memorize them before they disappear."

Ellie felt something tight and painful lodge in her throat. "I need to find out who I was. Before. Before Eleazar brought me here."

"And you think knowing that will make things better?"

"I think not knowing is making things worse." Ellie looked around the market—at the familiar faces, the stalls she'd been visiting since childhood, the easy rhythm of life in Nova that she'd always taken for granted. "But I'm starting to realize what it means to leave. What I'll be leaving behind."

Pasley was quiet for a moment, their gaze distant. When they spoke again, their voice carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "I ran away once, you know. When I was younger and stupider than you are now. Thought I could find something better than Nova, something that would make sense of all the restlessness I felt inside."

"What happened?"

"I found other places. Some worse, some just different. And eventually I came back, because I realized the restlessness wasn't about where I was. It was about who I was." Pasley met her eyes directly. "But I had to leave to learn that. Sometimes you have to go away to understand what you're coming back to."

"What if I don't come back?" The fear escaped before Ellie could cage it. "What if I find out who I was and it changes me so much that I can't be the person everyone here knows anymore?"

"Then that's what happens." Pasley's hand landed on her shoulder, warm and steady. "But Ellie, you're not going to become a stranger just because you learn more about yourself. You might become different—we all do, every day we live. But the you that learned to pick pockets from me, that spent hours in the forest with Amnity, that came to me crying when you had your first heartbreak—that person doesn't disappear just because you add more chapters to her story."

Ellie felt tears threatening and blinked them back furiously. "I'm scared."

"Good. Smart people are scared before they do big things. It's the fools who run in confident that usually end up in trouble." Pasley pulled her into another hug, this one longer, tighter. "You go find your answers, girl. And when you're ready—whether that's in a week or a year or a decade—you come back and tell me what you learned. I'll be here."

When they pulled apart, Pasley's eyes were suspiciously bright. "You taking care of Amnity on this adventure?"

"She's taking care of me, more likely."

"Good. That girl's got more sense than both of us combined." Pasley smiled, but it wobbled slightly. "You tell her that if anything happens to you, she'll have to answer to me."

Ellie nodded, not trusting her voice.

As she walked away from the market, she found herself noticing things she'd always overlooked. The baker who always slipped extra bread to families with young children. The street musician whose songs marked the passage of seasons. The old woman who sat outside her shop every afternoon, knitting and watching the world go by with bright, curious eyes.

All of them part of the intricate web that made up her life in Nova. All of them people she'd taken for granted because they'd always been there, as constant as the trees and the gentle light filtering through endless forest.

She passed the tea house where she and Amnity had spent countless afternoons studying healing herbs and gossiping about nothing important. The bridge where she'd practiced her first successful portal-closing spell. The small shrine to the Mirror Makers, where she'd left offerings as a child, believing they could grant wishes.

Every corner held a memory. Every familiar face was someone who'd shaped her understanding of the world, who'd taught her something about kindness or resilience or how to survive when things got hard.

And she was choosing to leave it all behind to chase answers about a life she couldn't remember, in a world that had felt simultaneously foreign and familiar in ways that still confused her.

The realization hit her with unexpected force as she reached the path that would take her back to her small room at The Hole: she was terrified she was making a mistake.

What if the truth she found didn't bring peace, but only more questions? What if learning about her past destroyed her ability to appreciate her present? What if she returned to Nova—assuming she returned at all—and found that she no longer fit in the spaces she'd once occupied so comfortably?

But then she thought about the alternative: staying here, never knowing, spending the rest of her life wondering about the phantom family she might have had, the phantom life she might have lived. Watching that uncertainty slowly poison everything good she'd built in Nova, until she became a ghost haunting her own existence.

At least searching for answers was a choice. At least it was moving forward, even if the direction was uncertain.

She found Amnity waiting outside The Hole when she arrived, a small travel pack already prepared at her feet. Her expression was determined but gentle, and when she saw Ellie's face, understanding bloomed in her eyes.

"Second thoughts?" Amnity asked softly.

"Tenth or eleventh thoughts, more like," Ellie admitted. "I just saw Pasley. They... they reminded me what I'm leaving behind."

"We can wait. Take more time to think about it."

Ellie shook her head. "No. Waiting won't change anything. It'll just give me more time to talk myself into staying safe and scared." She managed a weak smile. "Besides, you already faced down the Council of Shadows for me. Can't back out now."

Amnity stepped closer, taking Ellie's hands in hers. "We're not running away from Nova. We're just taking a detour to find something you lost. This place will be here when we get back. The people who love you will be here."

"Promise?"

"I promise. And if I'm wrong, we'll build something new. Together."

Ellie squeezed her hands, drawing strength from the contact. Pasley was right—she was scared, and that was okay. But she wasn't alone. Whatever they found in that other world, whatever truths were waiting to be uncovered, they'd face them together.

"Okay," she said, her voice steadier now. "Let's go find out who I used to be, so I can figure out who I want to become."

And with the weight of Nova's memories and the hope of Amnity's love both anchoring her, Ellie turned toward The Hole and the mirrors that would carry them to a world of concrete and noise and answers she wasn't sure she was ready to hear.