Don't Starve: What This World Has to Offer

by Moonweaver50

"The Reign of Giants will come and go - Shipwrecked will he, we'll never know - When finally, the end of lives - Begins with the fall of five" A world fraying apart from the seams would do anything to save itself. The Host, The Young Heir, The Martyr, The Sister, and the One True Heir. Don't be afraid. This is what is meant to happen. This is what you're meant to be.

91. Chapter 91 Forgiveness - Part 5

Chapter 4 of 5

Two Worlds

Webber's POV

"Are you sure we have to go this way?"

Although the words were heavy with disdain, I could hear the concern pitching Wilson's voice. I felt my whiskers twitch in his direction, but I didn't grace him with a response. My gut had yet to lead us wrong so far. I turned my gaze down towards my hands, one of which was bathed in a gentle purple hue, the other wrapped firmly around my sword. Without looking, I knew that the same purple glow would have settled in my eye and over the scars I couldn't see.

It was almost funny in a way, considering it would be highlighting the very scar that Wilson's apology was about.

There were questions when the others woke up, although that was to be expected. Wilson had gotten some sleep after our conversation but I… couldn't. Instead, I found myself running the entire conversation through my head over and over again, trying desperately to figure out what exactly had happened and why.

I knew very well that Wilson had lied when he said that Wilbur and Winona had nothing to do with him apologizing. It wasn't something he would've done by himself.

(Which was obvious. Almost eight months, and the scientist had never even really acknowledged what had happened.)

He had never apologized. He had never apologized. As soon as he had said that he was sorry, I had a retort on the tip of my tongue. I had almost said something about him having said it before, but he hadn't. My mind had sped through all of our interactions in the past eight months and not once had he apologized for what he had done to me.

He had tortured me. Wilson had tortured me. And after the fact, he had awkwardly stood aside and pretended that it hadn't been his hand to do it.

It was unfair of me to think that. It had been Nightmare's will to do it, not Wilson's.

But the scientist had never acknowledged it.

The fact that Wilson had decided to apologize now was… a surprise. I hadn't even quite understood what he was talking about at first when he started talking because I had simply accepted that we were just never going to talk about it.

Maybe it was the loose end that had caused the wound to fester for so long. Maybe it was the silence that had caused that night to burn in my memory for so long.

Even hours later, my mind was still a bit of a mess over the whole thing.

"Nah," I said breezily in response to Wilson. He jumped as I spoke, so I must've taken so long to respond that he expected me to ignore it altogether. "I'm just going in circles until you go so insane that you can barely think straight. It's a game I play sometimes."

He must have thought I was being truthful with the speed of which he whipped around to look at me. I snickered at his reaction and elbowed him in the side.

"Come on, have a little faith in me."

"You said that so seriously!" Wilson protested.

"That's why you take everything people say as a joke," Wilbur piped up. The prime ape was seated comfortably on Winona's shoulders, tail slowly waving in the breeze. "Then you don't get bamboozled."

Winona and Wilson exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

I immediately stopped and folded my arms, pulling out the best expectant expression I could make. "What, are both of you doubting me? Come on, I've led you to the right place three times so far. And this is the best shape I've been in doing that. If you can trust me while I'm starving," I flicked a finger up for each point I made. "Having just recovered from the verge of death, and literally recently revived from freezing to death, then I think you should trust me while I'm none of those things."

"It's not that I don't trust your lead," Winona said hurriedly. I could sense the way she felt uncomfortable bringing up the ending to the past three worlds, which was kind of strange, quite frankly. She wasn't the one who experienced all that, and it was in the past at this point anyway. "It's just- something Wilson and I found this way."

Wilbur lightly bapped Winona on the side of the head with sheathed claws. "Oh, so you two found something spooky and didn't tell us?"

Another uncomfortable shared glance between the two adults. I raised an eyebrow as I waited. "I was… kinda hoping we wouldn't have to deal with it again," Winona said after a moment.

"Oh no, I'm going entirely truthful on this one." Wilson waved one hand at Winona. "She was worried you two would go straight into it the second we said anything about it."

I should probably have been offended by that, but I surprisingly wasn't. I looked over at Wilbur, who simply shrugged with an agreeable bob of his head. "Probably," he said.

"Well, surprise, we're going there without you guys having to say anything about it. What exactly is the 'it' we're supposed to be concerned about?" When neither of them immediately responded, I added: "If you don't tell us, I'm just going to guess until I guess correctly."

Still, it seemed as if neither of them wanted to explain. Or maybe they were struggling to explain. Wilson was doing that thing again where he picked at his fingers to avoid looking at anyone and Winona simply stared at me with a sort of vaguely concerned look on her face.

Wilbur was the first one to speak. "Nightmare fuel," he announced.

"Nightmare fuel? Do you know about it too?"

"Nope. You can smell it from here."

I frowned lightly, but took his suggestion. I closed my eye and inhaled deeply.

The sting of Nightmare fuel was undeniable. It was faint at the moment, carried on the light breeze, but present. "Oh."

"The place is entirely drenched in it," Wilson muttered. "As far as the eye can see. And the entire time, there were just these…"

"Memories," Winona finished. "Bad ones. Like dreams. Or, well, nightmares. No wonder it's called Nightmare fuel. Wilson was nearly incapacitated by it. I didn't get it as bad but it was still… a struggle." She and Wilson gave stunted explanations of the land they had seen. Neither seemed happy talking about it, but they were giving an explanation, which was all I really cared about.

"Aw," Wilbur said. "You guys didn't want us to completely dissociate from trauma. That's so sweet."

I scrunched up my face as they spoke. I already had enough to deal with with nightmares and panic attacks, the last thing I needed was another source of resurfacing trauma. If the experience was bad enough that Wilson was nearly incapacitated by it, how badly would it affect me? How badly would it affect Wilbur?

I wouldn't be the first person to call my life a dream, but Wilbur had over four thousand years of awful experiences to trudge through if he had to. Would he even be okay? It was almost enough to make me rethink the decision to go this way, but the pull in my chest was insistent. That was where we needed to go, no matter what we would have to go through to get there.

"We'll do what we have to," I said grimly.

"Are you sure you're okay with that?" Winona fretted. "I mean this for both of you. I know there's… a lot. That you might not want to live through again. Are you sure you'll be able to…?"

"Eh, you've gone through a traumatic experience once, you've been through it a thousand times." Wilbur waved his hand nonchalantly. "If I was one to get crippled by my old memories, I probably wouldn't be here today."

Three sets of eyes turned to me.

"Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence, guys." I rolled my eyes. "Really appreciate it. Come on, let's just keep going." I tapped the tip of my sword against the ground impatiently. The tug at my chest was starting to feel more uncomfortable every second we stood around doing nothing.

"Whoa, hey, Ty, do I have to remind you about the fifteen million things you could see that would send us back three steps on our progress with you?"

I snorted at Wilbur's nervous words. He leapt down from Winona's shoulders to walk side-by-side with me. I kept my gaze firmly forwards.

"If this place is as bad as they're saying, maybe we should wait for a bit before going anywhere. Actually, yes, that sounds like a fantastic idea. Let's turn around and go back and enjoy the peaches a little bit longer. Hey, I've never tried a dragonfruit before, think we could-" I grabbed Wilbur's shoulder just as he turned on his heel as if to go back.

"We have to go through here eventually. Nothing is going to make it less miserable."

"Okay, yes, that is true, but also consider." Wilbur put his hands together. "You are the most traumatized of all of us."

"I doubt that is true."

"You know, with how much losing Roselyn and Elizabeth messed me up, you'd be surprised I actually have more nightmares about my parents. I'm sure you understand just how awful it is to experience being attacked by your own parents, right? And like, Wilson, his most traumatizing moment is probably dying, which oh wow look at that who else's heart literally stopped?"

"Wilbur." My voice was short. I understood exactly what he was trying to do, but I wasn't going to let it work on me. I wanted to go now. I would not let the prime ape hold me back because he was worried about my mental state.

"-and oh yeah, Winona, losing Charlie, probably absolutely terrible, if only I knew someone else who is deeply troubled by the loss of their sister-"

"Wilbur." Fur bristling, I rounded on the prime ape. He yelped and shuffled back, although I didn't move an inch. "Perhaps it is not the best idea to remind every single person here about what terrible things they've gone through." Winona nor Wilson seemed to be too upset, although I could tell they were both extremely uncomfortable. Especially since Wilbur was acting as though what they had gone through paled in comparison to my own experiences. "Just because everyone has had different troubling experiences, does not mean one was harder to get through than the other. If I am saying I can go, then I can go."

Wilbur opened his mouth as if to continue arguing, but he was silenced by a swift look from Wilson. He twitched his ear and looked away. "I'm just worried about you…"

"I know you are." Against my will, my voice softened a bit. "But we will get through this, okay? Together."

As soon as it looked like the argument had fizzled out, I struck ahead again. This time, Wilson dropped behind, allowing for me to fully take the lead as Wilbur climbed back onto Winona's shoulders.

Long before we reached anything directly sinister, I could sense subtle differences around me. The shadows seemed to grow a bit deeper, as if they had physical weight to them. The sounds of wildlife were beginning to grow quiet, and the smell of citrus was quickly being overtaken by the stench of Nightmare fuel. I noticed Wilson indiscreetly covering his nose with one hand, although his eyes still watered. Winona didn't seem to be as intensely affected, although I could tell that her nose was starting to run and she seemed unwilling to take any deep breaths. Wilbur had his mouth firmly closed to prevent the smell from getting into his throat, but he still looked innately uncomfortable.

For myself, I was sure it wasn't as bad as the others. The smell was awful, yes, and tinged with the putrid scent of metallic blood and rot, but it didn't seem to pierce my senses like it did the others. Instead, I just wrinkled my nose in displeasure.

The grass began to grow coarse beneath my feet. The sun's light seemed to dim as we moved forward. Still, I took the lead. I was not about to back out of this, especially when we were so close to the end.

So close. So tantalizingly close. And while I didn't know exactly what was in store for me- I wasn't sure if I was to be Martyred, Nightmare's Host, or the King. Whatever it was, though, I was not about to shy away from it. I had shied away far too much already, and now I was going to face it head on.

Something in my vision seemed to twist at the corners. I whipped my head around to catch sight of it, but whatever it was vanished the second I turned my attention towards it.

"Winona," I said calmly, without moving my eyes away. "If I pass out, carry me, okay? Just keep going."

"You… sure?"

"I'm sure."

She nodded hesitantly, although Wilbur's expression told me he was entirely unhappy with the agreement. I was talking a big talk, but truthfully, I wasn't sure that I could get through memories like that without breaking down in some form.

I wondered if Webber would also experience a breakdown if I did. After all, we had been through most of these events together. Perhaps they would haunt him just as much as myself.

Once we beat Maxwell's game, I was sure the others would be fine. Wilson and Winona had homes in their native world. They would probably just both slip back into society as if they had never left. While our time here seemed like forever to me- almost a third of my entire life- they had had much more time to establish themselves. This would be nothing more than a blip in the past at some point for them.

Wilbur had expressed his wishes to go back to the Archipelago, which I wasn't about to deny. Assuming I did become King, I would make sure he was able to return home. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would be able to track down his daughter again and help them reunite. I smiled faintly at the thought. I could make the Archipelago nice for him. He had really taken to the pears, so maybe I would let them grow there for him.

Actually, if I took the Throne, I would have my work cut out for me. Trying to keep control of the Mainland, the Archipelago, my own homeland, and all five of Maxwell's game worlds would probably be a huge point of stress. Perhaps I would be able to convince Wilbur to stay by my side for a bit. I would certainly need the help.

Erika and WX, too. I would have the power to bring them back. Maybe I could even go ho-

No. That wouldn't work. I would be stuck on the Throne. Instead, I would let Erika go home. Maybe she would choose to stay with me even if given the choice to leave.

Selfish. Selfish.

Okay, what about WX? I doubted they would be willing to leave, though they came from the same land as Winona and Wilson. Perhaps they would want to go back as well. I frowned at the thought. What if all three of them chose to go home? What if I was left alone?

"Ty, careful-" Wilbur's voice cautioned, just seconds before my foot splashed into a puddle of something cold and slimy.

Something shifted, snapped, shuffled. A puzzle that had been put through a wood shredder in order to be repaired into something different. Little swathes of color, bright and dull, swirling together like paint water in a glass cup. Flecks of dirt, specks of black ink staining the paint.

A realignment. The water was poured out as suddenly as it formed, and as its colors leached out across parchment, a new image replaced it.

And suddenly, I was no longer with Wilbur, Wilson, and Winona. Instead, I was somewhere that I… didn't immediately recognize.

I was in a house. The windows were open just a crack, letting in a gentle spring breeze. Leaves rustled in my ears, each movement blending together into the sound of rushing waves.

It was warm and sheltered. The smell of baking bread wafted from a door that was held open by a clothes iron somewhere behind me.

"Guys?" I called out. My voice was small, thick with an accent I hadn't heard in years and soft with youth. I was small. Smaller even than I was used to.

I walked forward. My feet were no longer padded with fur, but instead soft socks that felt distinctly of spider silk and beefalo wool. The window was much higher than I was anticipating, but I was just able to get my eyes over the sill to see outside.

Greenery flooded my vision. Warm, golden sunlight dappling leaves of deep shades of green. "Guys?" I tried again, but there was still no response.

Perhaps I should have been more worried, or more confused, but I was expecting something much worse than this.

I honestly had built a sort of list in my head of things I expected to experience once more. Certainly having my eye cut out, maybe mixed in with the mutilation of my hand. WX's death was on my mental list, as was being eaten by Webber. Losing Wilson in the battle against the Dragonfly, even my own temporary death after I had frozen in the previous world.

This place wasn't in any of those memories. And yet, it felt… so familiar.

Outdoors had not given me any hints, so I turned my attention back indoors. Picture frames with blurred pictures lined a mantle over a fireplace that was currently not in use. Some old holiday decorations still littered a shelf, having yet to be put away despite the temperature suggesting that snowglobes were far out of season.

The faintest trickle of memory appeared in the back of my head, of two small children complaining as the snowglobes were tucked away until next Winter's Feast. They had stayed up the next year.

I examined each of the pictures on the mantle, but the faces of each of the individuals present in them were cast in such deep shadow that I couldn't make any of them out. I rubbed my thumb experimentally across a faint crack in one of the frames, but the image still remained smudged and unrecognizable.

With no more hints to be gained from this room, I cautiously turned to the door that was propped open and pushed it the rest of the way open.

The increase of heat was immediate, as well as the overwhelming scent of roasting meat and baking bread. The sharp tang of cinnamon and the faint aroma of oats dusted the room, which I assumed to be a kitchen. Jars of carefully labeled spices lined the edge of an open oven. Various tools used for the handling of beefalo meat hung on the wall at my back, each one cleaned meticulously of blood or juice and hung just high enough to prevent children from touching them.

Standing by the oven was a small girl, humming the same four lines of a nursery rhyme over and over again. The door closed behind me with a soft thump as it bounced against the iron. Immediately, the girl stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me.

She looked different from the last time I had seen her. Older, likely the age she would be now had she survived all those years ago. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, likely to prevent it from catching fire, but I could tell it was longer than usual. Her amber eyes were just as vibrant, though. Like pools of fire, or glittering like the sunset.

"Hey, Ty," the girl said with a smile.

I took a step closer, and immediately I found myself back in the body I was familiar with. Inky black fur covering every inch of my skin, scars dotting my face and body, and claws that twitched with the strange familiarity of this domestic setting.

"Erika," I greeted softly. Even though it was the body I was used to, my voice sounded the same as it had earlier. Lacking the raspy growl of a spider's vocal cords.

"You took your time," Erika said. She beckoned me towards a worn kitchen table. The wood had once been washed with a baby blue, but age had deteriorated it into something closer to pale gray. Such a dye was uncommon in our town, so it was always a surprise to see it. As I sat at the creaky table, I noticed small notches made in the edges of the wood, as if claws had scraped slashes in it.

Or like two little kids liked to saw at it with their butter knives.

"What's going on?" I asked. "I was told I was supposed to be experiencing some sort of awful memory. I wouldn't consider any of this to be awful." I tipped my head at my sister, watching the way her eyes seemed to dart around my face. She was looking for something. Or maybe she was just taking my appearance in.

Was Erika ever angry that I had survived the spider attack, and she had not? While I still retained some of my human features from the circumstances of my survival, Erika's death had led to a rebirth as a full-blooded dangling depths dweller. Did she ever hate me for that?

Did you ever hate me for killing you, Eri?

"Maybe it's not an awful memory," the girl said. "Maybe it is a guilty memory."

"Guilty?" I blinked at her, curious as to what she was getting at.

"You have a lot of awful memories, don't you Ty?" Erika said instead of responding. Her smile was knowing, her eyes creased ever-so-slightly at the edge. When I had known her, she had never stopped smiling in my presence. I supposed neither of us had ever stopped smiling around each other. We had never been one for 'mommy's boys' or 'daddy's girls'. We were each other's and no one else's. From the minute we were born to the minute we died.

"I guess," I murmured. Was this the part where I was ruthlessly assaulted with the horrors of my past? I was prepared for it. I was fully prepared to experience all of the lovely things we had gone through. Would it be like a dream, where you could not feel pain? Or would I feel it all just like the moment the memory spawned from?
And yet, nothing significant happened. Something cooking in the oven began to sizzle. I could smell rabbit now. Erika turned away from me and used an old mitt to pull out a large slab of cooked meat from the fire. She shuffled around with it a little bit more as if turning something around before looking back.

"But you have one memory like this," she continued. "One very guilty memory that you never forgave yourself for."

"Forgave myself?" I echoed. "Erika, I…"

The girl padded closer to me. She sat on the chair opposite of my own. The one that I had accidentally torn a hole into the cushion of while roughhousing with Erika one day. We had panicked over the misdemeanor and prayed that our parents wouldn't notice it, but Mum always had eagle eyes.

"So you have not?" She concluded. There was a twinkle of knowing in her eyes. Erika had always known me better than I knew myself. Our minds always worked in tandem, ready to cover for the other if need be. Our cover stories were always flawless, even as spunky, frankly stupid four-year-olds.

"I don't… remember anything like this," I admitted.

"Mum and Pa were still asleep," Erika said. "I woke up early because Mum asked me to remove the roast from the oven before the sun rose. We were both very excited. Pa planned on baking bread."

Instinctively, I felt my whiskers curl to my face. Our parents rarely made roast and bread. It was always a special treat when they did, and it was always planned out beforehand. Alyvia and Pa would always make the bread together, while Mum had to fight with me and Erika to prepare the roast. It was a family effort, even if the two youngest ones weren't very helpful.

"You woke up early that day, too, because you wanted to-"

"Stop," I interrupted. A sickening feeling was coiling in my chest. "Stop. Just… just stop."

Erika tipped her head at me. "So you do remember."

"Of course I remember," I huffed. "That was the day…"

"That was the day I died," Erika concluded calmly. Her voice held no roughness to it, not even an ounce of disdain or anger. It was calm but firm.

A sort of wry chuckle built in my chest. I pressed the palm of my hands against my eyes, laughing breathlessly into my chest fur. "I get it. It wasn't enough to feel forgiveness. I have to earn it from you too, don't I?"

Again, a sort of faint smile appeared on her face. "Did I ever say you had to earn your forgiveness from me?"

"Of course I do!" I snapped. As my temper rose, so did my stance. I stood so suddenly that the chair behind me screeched as it was pushed back. I threw one arm out in frustration. "Erika, any argument that has been made for my other screw ups aren't applicable here. I wasn't having a panic attack. I wasn't controlled by anyone else. It was just me, dragging you out to a spider den just because I was curious. I got you killed, Erika. All of this-" I motioned again, with both of my arms this time. "This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been-"

"A child?" Erika finished.

"An idiot," I corrected with a snap. "If I hadn't been a selfish, stupid moron. If I hadn't dragged you out there with me, you never would have… I never would have lost you."

"Then I would have been lost grieving for you," Erika said. "It is strange that you are so upset to have lost me, and yet you don't grieve for having lost yourself."

"I didn't lose myself," I growled. "I turned into what I had to in order to survive. Because despite what happened to you, I still stubbornly refused to let myself die."

"That would have been a very sad ending to your story," Erika mused. "I much prefer you have survived."

"Well, we're at odds here, aren't we then?" I sneered.

"I don't understand," she said. "You can forgive Wilson for your torture, but you can't forgive yourself for being a naive child?"

"It's different. I was in my right mind. I knew what I was doing and I-" My fists were clenched so hard that they shook. "I did it anyway."

She tipped her head. "You didn't understand the danger."

"Mum warned us about the danger. I should have."

That thoughtful look came over Erika's face again. Then, she seemed to come to a decision. "Come with me."

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I even could get a word out, I found myself in an entirely new space. The scent of bread and meat still hovered in the air, but it was fainter now. Instead, this place was cast in thick shadows and smelled of warmth and sleep. I blinked a few times to get used to the new lighting and saw that I was in another room.

There were slivers of golden light peaking through the corners of a window, but for the most part, the light was dimmed by heavy curtains. A chest of drawers, stained a deep reddish brown, was sitting under the window, the top covered with various objects.

I was in a bedroom. I could guess that easily enough, but I didn't need to. I recognized this bedroom.

My hasty step back was blocked by Erika's hand pressing on my shoulder. My gaze shot towards her, desperate for an explanation, but she simply tilted her head forward. "Look at him."

"I don't want to," I whispered hoarsely. I didn't want to be here.

"Ty."

"Stop. I don't-" My words caught as my throat seemed to close up. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see it.

Still, she watched me with that patient glimmer in her amber eyes. She would not let me leave until I looked.

Finally, spurred on by her (somewhat forceful) encouragement, I inched closer to the bed. The desire to close my eyes tightly was strong, but I found that I couldn't. I couldn't even look away if I wanted to.

I knew what I would see. I knew exactly what I would see. And yet… I found myself still shocked beyond words to finally lay eyes on the boy that I had once been.

He was in a deep, comfortable sleep. His mouth was parted slightly, letting out little snorts with every exhale. There was not a single sign on his entire body that hinted of stress or nightmares. His face was lax and his breathing was steady.

He had very few scars. A noticeable trio that tore across his knuckles, and a couple of small ones on his elbows and face, but nothing that would really catch anyone's eye. His skin was smooth and almost entirely unblemished by wounds or scars or fur. His hair was messy, sticking up randomly from the static of his pillow, but noticeably soft. In fact, 'soft' was the best word to use to describe him. From his round cheeks, his chubby limbs, his gentle features… it was the only word I could really use to describe him. Well, maybe not the only word.

Because another word I could use was… just… young.

It was one thing to remember doing something. To know that you did something and believe that you should have known better. But to truly see just how small and young you had been when you did it… I couldn't even fathom blaming this boy for what happened.

My heart constricted at the thought, because this boy was myself. And he was just so innocent. So young. So oblivious to the thought of danger.

His scars were from scraped knees and tumbles. A table edge that caught his cheek when he tripped over a rug once. A toy that had cut across his arm when he and his sister were roughhousing. How could he even understand what danger was when he had never even seen it before?

I swallowed hard, surprised at the sudden dampness under my eye.

"Do you understand now?" Erika's voice said. When I tore my gaze away from the boy to look back at my lost sister, she didn't look upset or angry. She just looked… sad.

I understood. The guilt that had weighed on my chest for most of my life seemed to lessen, just a bit. It would take some time for it to fade completely, but it would eventually. One day.

Even though I didn't verbally respond, she seemed satisfied. The girl smiled gently and threw her arms around me. I stiffened for only a moment before melting into her hug, returning it with just as much force. I turned my head into her shoulder and sighed heavily, letting the gentle touch be the last thing I felt before the scene winked out entirely.

Winona jerked violently as if waking from a dream. The touch of sunlight had faded, leaving a certain chill to her skin and artificial lighting to show her surroundings. The sharp scent of burnt oil and overheated metal carried heavily in the air, filling her lungs in a way that they had neglected to in the past several months.

She opened her eyes wide to see a wide room in front of her. Everything in it remained mostly still and unmanned. Machines paused in the middle of their cycle, scraps of metal in varying stages of work laid precisely in their spots, and tools scattering the shelves.

Her nose still stung from the acidic stench of Nightmare fuel, so before anything else, she took a good few moments to reacquaint herself with the familiar smells of her old job. Her home-away-from-home, if you would.

The place looked cleaner than she remembered. The cabinets and tables once smeared with oil were now polished to a shine, reflecting the lights above them back up to the ceiling. The floor was dry and free of debris or grease. Any clutter on the shelves was straight and in its proper place. Still, despite the unnatural cleanliness of the familiar space, she was able to pick out the well-worn tools that had once belonged to her.

Winona was not surprised to find herself somewhere new, especially here. Some awful memories came back to this place. And yet… she was surprised to find herself mobile. She wasn't stuck in a nightmare that forced her to relive the worst days of her life, she was simply standing still, as if waiting for something to happen.

When she tried to walk, she did. There was no force stopping her from moving.

This is new, she thought after a moment. She reached a hand out to grab a wrench that was perched on a shelf. The handle had lost any luster it once held due to use, but it seemed to fit perfectly in her hand. She smiled fondly at the item. Much of her life had come down to the use of a screwdriver and a wrench.

That was… until Charlie went missing.

"There you are, Winnie. I've been looking everywhere for you!"

The voice. Winona almost choked on the sound of the voice alone, and that was ignoring the aching familiarity of the nickname. The voice had come from behind her, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around. Couldn't bring herself to look at the phantom she knew would be standing behind her.

So it was the phantom that brought herself into Winona's vision, a wide smirk on her face.

"Have you just been standing here this whole time?" Scarlet crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. When Winona still couldn't find it in herself to respond, the other woman moved again to stand next to her before turning to face the same direction. She stood like this for a second before nodding once. "Ah, yes, I see. Fascinating. I, too, regularly admire our workplace."

"Scar-" Winona choked. She had prepared herself to be haunted by the memories of her sister, not this phantom of the woman she had loved. "I- you-"

"It's been some time now, hasn't it?" Scarlet said when Winona couldn't get the words out. Winona immediately clamped her mouth shut, unable to speak once more. "Almost a year, right? I don't think it's been a full year since you went missing, yet." Melancholy wavered in Scarlet's light brown eyes as she spoke.

And still, Winona could not speak. She had never imagined herself to be standing here again like this, basking in the warmth Scarlet radiated with every movement. The lack of sunlight never did matter when the only sun she needed was right beside her, covered in grease and twirling tools in her hand like she had been born with natural sleight of hand.

For some time, Winona had refrained from ever speaking of Scarlet around her companions. She wasn't sure how natives like Wilbur and Tyler viewed people like them, and she didn't want to risk their hatred. She knew exactly what people from her home thought of it. Wilson, she was the most afraid of. She knew for a fact that he had grown up with the same ideals as she had, and she knew for a fact that he was familiar with the hatred most people would hold for her.

It had been a pleasant surprise to hear that none of her companions minded. Even Wilson seemed more baffled than angry or disgusted. It had made her feel warm from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, because suddenly, there was some place she could stay where no one hated her for something so simple as this.

Standing here again, though, in front of Scarlet once more, she suddenly forgot all about the expectations and whispered slurs and rumors that had been shared behind their backs. It had never really mattered in the end. Scarlet had always had it worse, but she had always managed to keep a smile on her face no matter what the words said about her were. Slurs about her warmer skin color and who she chose to love never seemed to bother Scarlet. Winona could never quite believe that Scarlet was as unbothered as she appeared.

Scarlet whistled and waved a hand in front of her face. "Helloo, Earth to Winnie, you with me?"

And finally, as if broken from a thick layer of ice, Winona found herself capable of movement again. Immediately, she fell into Scarlet, grabbing onto her for dear life and holding her closer than she ever dared before. "Scar," she breathed, struggling and ultimately failing to hold back the tears that threatened in her vision.

"Whoa, okay, let's sit down for a bit, yeah?"

Winona allowed Scarlet to gently guide her to the ground, where she was significantly less likely to fall flat on her face if she leaned against the other woman any more. Still, though, she refused to release her. The last time she released Scarlet, she never got to hold her again. She had too much time to make up.

"You still wear your headband," Scarlet mused after a moment, twirling one of the ribbons between her fingers.

At this point, Winona had regained some of her composure, although she still hadn't released her girlfriend. She chuckled wetly. "Of course I do. It makes me think of you."

"You sap," Scarlet teased. "Don't get all sentimental on me, Winnie."

"I haven't seen you in forever," Winona said. "I am allowed to be sentimental."

A few more moments of silence hovered between them. Once again, Scarlet was the one to break it. "You found your sister, hm?"

Winona slowly peeled herself away and scrubbed at her face with her wrist. She had to remind herself, this wasn't Scarlet. Not the real Scarlet, at least. The real Scarlet had no idea where she was, no idea what had happened to her. The real Scarlet…

God, the real Scarlet probably thought she was dead.

"Ah," Scarlet said, and her voice had become much more somber. "You feel guilty."

"Of course I feel guilty," she chuckled without any real merriment. "I gave up everything to find Charlie… even you." Winona looked up as she released a forceful exhale. "You didn't deserve that. Mom and Dad didn't deserve that."

"But you did find Charlie," Scarlet pointed out. "It wasn't for nothing."

"Wasn't it, though?" She tried to meet Scarlet's gaze, but she found that she couldn't hold it. She dropped her eyes. "Knowing where Charlie is now, knowing what happened to her… I still can't save her. I don't really know why I thought I could."

"Mm." Scarlet rested her chin on her hand. "I don't think of it like that. I'm sure Charlie is ecstatic to get to see you again, even if it's not in the best of ways. I can't even imagine how tough it was for her to hold out so long with nobody but Maxwell." She stuck her tongue out at the name.

"That's another thing," Winona sighed. "I knew something was off with William. I knew it for years."

"You told her you thought something was wrong with him."

"I should have pushed harder. I should have put my foot down and told her to break it off with him."

A smirk appeared on Scarlet's face. "Ah, telling people to break up with their love always works out well. I'm sorry, remind me how many people you stopped being friends with because of us?"

"You weren't a crazy psychopath."
"And nobody believed William was, either." Scarlet tapped her chin. "I remember him. Confident, smart, always squinting like he needed glasses. Everyone loved him. I'm pretty sure Charlie talked about him every single time I ever saw her. She was head over heels for that man. I don't think you could've stopped her from being with him, even if you tried to pull the big sister card."

"I could have at least tried," Winona muttered.

"You did try, Winnie," Scarlet said softly. "You tried everything to keep that girl safe. But she was an adult. She made her own decisions."

"I guess."

"Don't you 'I guess' me," she scolded. "You did everything you could. I know Charlie would've been touched to hear all that you went through for her." Scarlet visibly softened as Winona continued to avoid her gaze. "It must have been hard, when everyone told you to move on… even myself."

Winona immediately snapped back to attention. "No, no. You guys were right. I let my obsession consume me! I pushed everyone away, just because you guys cared about me! If I had just…" Winona pressed her hands into her eyes. "Grr, if I had just listened to you, none of this would've happened. I would still be there with you." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "None of this would've happened."

"And you consider that to be objectively a good thing?" Scarlet pressed. "If you had given up on Charlie. If you had moved on like everyone else. If you hadn't rebuilt the door and ended up in the Constant. That is the best possible scenario you could be in?"

"Are you being sarcastic?" Winona said grimly. When Scarlet didn't say anything, Winona let out a sigh. "Do you think I enjoy sleeping on the ground? Fighting off starvation and freezing? Having to hunt for my own food, and prepare my own meat? That I enjoy knowing that Charlie is just out of my reach, suffering every moment while I do nothing?"

"Perhaps not," Scarlet conceded. "But I think you love your friends."

"I had friends at home."

"But not like them."

Wilson, fighting to free himself of his own chained hatred. Wilbur, snarky and sarcastic and capable of loving more deeply than anyone she had ever known. Tyler, bold and brave and struggling to build a family from what he had left.

"No," Winona agreed quietly. "Not like them."

"And you believe Charlie does not feel the same way? That, while her situation is terrible, it could be worse? She is still whole, Winnie. You can still save her. You shouldn't lose hope for that future."

"I'm not suffering the same way Charlie is, Scar."

"Are you sure?" Scarlet asked. "Charlie does not feel the cold or hunger. She doesn't have to fear the dark. She doesn't need sleep like you do."

"But I'm not alone like she is!" Winona protested.

"Charlie is not alone." Scarlet tipped her head. "She has you. I believe having you here gives her strength. To see such a bright spirit like yourself remain bright despite the situations. I believe your group shines away the darkness she had been in for so long."

It felt like a stretch, but Winona couldn't deny the little spark of hope in her chest. It was likely wishful thinking to believe any of what Scarlet was telling her. And yet… she found herself hoping it was true. That, just by being here, she was helping Charlie. Fighting back the darkness.

"What about you?" Winona murmured.

"I have not lost you forever," Scarlet said. "I understand why you did what you did. I always have understood. I just feared losing you forever. But that hasn't happened. You are still alive and well. You still have a way home. And when you do make it home, I will still be there."

"You would like Wilbur, I think. He reminds me of you, sometimes."

"I'm sure it would be a blast to talk to a monkey." Scarlet grinned. "Come on, Winnie. Pick yourself up. You're so close to the end."

Winona huffed as she slowly dragged herself back to her feet, aided by an offered hand by Scarlet. She was silent for a moment, carefully gazing over Scarlet's face and trying desperately to remember her features. "You'll be waiting for me?"

"Always," Scarlet said with a nod. "You just have to beat this game."

She could do that. She knew she could. After ensuring that every inch of Scarlet's beautiful face was freshly committed to memory, Winona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm almost there, Scar. Soon. I promise. We will see each other again."

Scarlet opened her arms, and Winona fell into them. She breathed in deeply and tucked her face into Scarlet's neck. "I'm counting on it," Scarlet whispered, the voice breathy and soft and the last thing Winona was able to absorb before it all faded away into soft light.

…

It was just a blink. One second, Wilbur was perched on Winona's shoulders, and the next thing he knew, he was suddenly on his own feet in the middle of a jungle. He didn't even really question it, though. Instead, he simply looked up at the trees and nodded. "Yup. This tracks," he said to no one in particular.

The world around him was painted in vibrant greens, like an artist trying to paint a landscape with just shades of the color. All of the tree trunks were covered so thoroughly in plant growth that their natural brown color was hidden entirely under the soft, round leaves. Vines hung all around him, some hanging limply from the trees and others- the more sentient ones- hissed and rattled in irritation at his presence. They wouldn't bite, though. Not unless he got too close or smelled suspiciously like flies. Either way, he still didn't get any closer to them. You couldn't really predict when your fur was having a particularly fly-smelling day.

Golden sunlight streamed from up above, casting dappled beams of light onto the underbrush. The wind caught the leaves, causing these pale spots to shift and tremble as it disturbed them.

His ears twitched as the buzzing of large, glowing insects reached him. It was a lazy sound, like the bugs could barely be bothered to even fly. At a higher register, trilling bird songs fluttered about above his head, speckling the intensely green land with flashes of blues, reds, and yellows.

Wilbur stood in a small circle of dirt, barely big enough for himself, in the middle of a sunbeam. It was similar to the kind of space you would make to sleep for the night. It was always more comfortable when tucked away in the brush, nothing but plants tickling your sides and sun-warmed dirt under your flank. Still, though, he didn't often venture this far into the jungle on his own. There was always the risk of finding prime ape troops if you did that.

He could tell by smell alone that he was rather far inland. While the smell of salt carried heavily on the breeze, it was overshadowed by the sweet, tart tang of fruit. That part, at least, was familiar from recent times. The smell of fruit was strong in the little slice of Heaven that Maxwell had carved out.

The rest of it, though, was something he hadn't seen much of in many years. He had always preferred the beach and open ocean to the cool, shaded jungles.

"Not getting any younger," Wilbur muttered under his breath as he started to walk forward. Truthfully, he had expected to succumb to something while they were here. Wilson and Winona had seemed pretty convinced that he and Tyler would be absolutely decimated by the kind of visions this place induced. And yet, as it stood right now, there was nothing really bad happening. As far as he knew, this was not a memory at all.

For a good moment, the only things that showed any interest in him were the snapping vines. They whipped warningly in his presence as he pushed through the undergrowth, but he remained untouched. It must've been a non-fly day for his fur. Always a plus.

Then, suddenly, the world opened up into a clearing. Wilbur froze so fast that he nearly fell over himself. Thick, impossibly tall trees lined the clearing in a perfect circle. He recognized this area, although his memory had it placed much closer to the beachside.

Pale, glowing blue flowers covered the ground, erupting from a spot somewhere closer to the opposite tree line. The familiar plants crawled up the trees, their raindrop-shaped petals drooping from the branches and from little gaps in the bark. The gold shine of the sun had been overtaken entirely by the cool brightness of the flowers.

"Ahh, bad memories." This made a bit more sense. Even if this wasn't a specific memory, it wasn't as though he had much of a fondness for this place. It was actually borderline physically painful, but it could be worse. He would rather find himself here than reliving his worst memories.

Wilbur waded through the Glowing Tear Roots. He allowed the silky touch of the petals to soothe him, if only just to keep himself calm. It had been some time since he had visited. It only felt appropriate to reach the epicenter of the overgrowth, even if his chest ached because of it.

The flowers closest to the center had formed with little red streaks adorning the petals, marking them as unique from their brethren.. It was there he intended to go, and there he saw something that stopped him entirely in his tracks.

Standing amongst the field of flowers, a young, pale-furred prime ape was tending to the Glowing Tear Roots. She had her long tail kinked high over her head, adorned with ropes of the blue blossoms that seemed to bloom from her fur. While normally, the sun would turn her fur a deep gold, the pale light of the Tear Roots bathed her in a ghostly sheen.

Upon noticing Wilbur, though, she looked up, a bright glimmer in her eyes. No matter what the lighting did to the color of her fur, her ocean blue eyes were unmistakable.

At first, neither of them spoke. The other prime ape's tail waved slowly back and forth, loosing a flurry of blue petals that came seemingly from nowhere every time it moved. Then, she broke into a wide smile and started wading through the plants towards him.

"Wilbur," she said gently as she butted her head into his cheek. As her scent wreathed around him, he immediately felt himself relaxing.

"I wouldn't call a vision with you alive in it a terrible bad no-good nightmare memory," Wilbur murmured, unable to help his own grin.

Perhaps this wasn't a memory. Perhaps Wilbur had simply spontaneously died and Roselyn was here to guide him to the afterlife. The Glowing Tear Roots were always associated with death, after all.

"Stop that," Roselyn said, bopping Wilbur on the nose. "You're not dead."

"Are you sure?" He said cheekily. "Because I feel like I'm seeing an angel."

Roselyn scoffed so hard she nearly lost her balance. "Suddenly acting like a prince again?"

"More like a king, my lovely queen."

"Oh please, how many people actually call you their king?"

"Enough." The banter was warm, light, familiar. There was an impossibly light gleam in Roselyn's eyes as she hip-checked Wilbur.

"Like, two people."

"I bet you could find at least three."

"Warly, Walani-" Roselyn started counting on her fingers, and Wilbur found himself interrupting.

"Uh, yeah, probably not them. I'm sure they have a few other names for me that aren't very nice. Or PG." He waved one hand. "People really don't like it when you murder them, soooo…"

The glimmer in Roselyn's eyes started to fade. "I… yeah. That makes sense."

The sudden change in the tone of her voice was enough to force Wilbur to look away. The moment had gone from warm and fond to awkward and heavy.

Roselyn had already been gone when he had killed the other members of their group. Her body hadn't even gone cold yet before Warly and Walani had joined her. It… wasn't his proudest moment.

Rose seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Or maybe she was just unsure of how to continue after the sudden shift in tone. Either way, what was left was an uncomfortable silence that Wilbur wasn't sure how to fill.

"I'm… sorry, by the way. For everything." He dipped his head, staring intensely at the flowers at Roselyn's feet. "I… didn't really do anything good with my life, did I?"

Rose seemed surprised by this. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I mean, no matter where you start in the timeline, I've only really done bad things. I trapped Woodlegs in a volcano and left him to die. I personally killed Walani and Warly with my own claws. I followed Nightmare and Maxwell and got you killed and Liz taken away. Even in the very beginning, my very first friend... I abandoned him."

"You remember him." Roselyn sounded surprised.

"I remember… most of him. I remember his face. I remember leaving him to die. But… you know. When you supplement someone's actual name with 'The Boy', you start to forget their real name, you know?"

"You hold a lot of regret in your heart." Roselyn took Wilbur's hand in her own and started tracing the lines of his palm. "Why is that? Why do you hold so much?"

"Hello? Have you seen the kind of regrettable things I've done? Again, volcano, murder, abandonment, not in that specific order." He stared at his lost mate.

"But most of it was against your wishes," Roselyn pointed out. "You have been put in awful circumstances, and you had to do what you had to do to survive."

Wilbur scoffed. "I've been alive for four thousand years. I think I've kind of overstayed my welcome, if you know what I mean."

This did not seem to pacify Rose. "You have such a big heart, Wilbur. The darkness forced you to destroy it just to stay alive, and yet, you still fight to build it back up. To fill it with all of the love you were able to feel."

"Correction: The darkness forced me to destroy it because I wanted power. There were no death threats if I didn't join them. Nightmare and I worked together for longer than you and I even knew each other."

"And yet, you broke free from Nightmare's influence."

Wilbur had been under Nightmare's influence for a long, long time. Much longer than Wilson had. His deal with the darkness, for an ounce of its power, had soiled part of his soul in the process. As such, he had held no fondness for his old companions.

Roselyn had cracked the ice around his heart. He found a gentle part of himself when he met her. She had been bathed in the red light of the volcano at the time, fur plastered with sweat and chest heaving with exertion, but the intensity of her gaze had ensnared Wilbur's poisoned heart from the moment she had told him her name.

The ice had remained, however. It wasn't broken entirely, simply cracked. Love leaked through the cracks like the hull of a sinking ship, but it hadn't been until the first time he had seen Elizabeth that the ice had shattered completely.

He had had to relearn how to love, but Rose and Liz had made that easy for him. In the end, it didn't matter. Roselyn still died. Elizabeth was still stolen from him.

Even then, his sins hadn't begun or ended with Nightmare. He had abandoned his original friend before Nightmare's influence. He had broken through the influence by the time his old companions had suffered under his claw. It was not an excuse.

"Nightmare had you in its claws for so long," Rose said gently. "You can't expect to have been able to become completely free of it."

"If I hadn't even tried, you would still be alive," Wilbur growled. "I lost you because I betrayed Nightmare. Add that to the sins count."

"You tried to do what was right."

"It wasn't a very objective 'right' then."

Roselyn let out a sad sound. She reached up and brushed her hand through the fur on Wilbur's head. "It was what was good for the world."

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "I've seen the world fall apart before, and it just got built back up. It doesn't matter what's good or bad for it. It's like a tick that won't leave you alone."

"Existence?" Roselyn quirked an eyebrow.

"Sure, we'll go with that." Wilbur sighed. "This world is not a kind one. It is evil and nasty and terrible. If the world had fallen apart if I accepted Nightmare fully, it probably would've been for the best."

"And yet… this is the world that you learned to love in."

Wilbur finally met her gaze. Her face was soft and sad, though he couldn't see any pity. Just a glint of hope and warmth that he wouldn't have expected in a conversation like this. "Huh?"

"This world is awful, yes, but it is the world that you learned to love in. It is the world that you learned to cook. That you and I first met in. It is the world that our daughter was born into. It is the world that your son lives in now. That is the world you helped to protect by rejecting Nightmare."

"It's the world that killed you," Wilbur protested.

Roselyn suddenly straightened herself, a fire burning in her eyes. "No," she said firmly. "The world was kind to me. It gave me my troop. It gave me Elizabeth. It gave me you. Nightmare was born alongside the world, not as a part of it. It is at fault for the terrible things that have happened, not the world, and not you."

Wilbur struggled to find a proper response to that. There was a passion in Rose's eyes that he hadn't seen before. A genuine love for the world that her family existed in. A genuine love for the world Wilbur had helped to live a little longer by refusing Nightmare a vessel.

"This world still lives on because of your choices, Wilbur," Roselyn said, her voice quickly fading into a soft note again. "Not despite them. In the living world, yes, you have lost me. But I still live on, waiting for the day you get to join me in the afterlife. I am only able to live on because of your strength in fighting off Nightmare. Not everyone is capable of loving to such an extent." Warmth blossomed in her voice. "And you love so much. Every moment, Wilbur, you are a wellspring of love and joy, even in the darkest times. That love will get you to the very end, when we'll all be together once more."

Wilbur blinked a few times, surprised to feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He wasn't always able to feel that wealth of love in his heart, but at this moment, it was full to near bursting. He had once loved so much that he had refused Nightmare's call, and the demon had torn down everything he had because of it. He had once loved so much that he had killed his companions, just for a glimmer of a chance to spare his only child. He had once loved so much that he had run away, because he couldn't bear to see the pain on his only friend's face as he was twisted into a demon.

He had loved so much, he had torn his life down around himself just to spare it.

They said no more. Roselyn gently nudged him, leading him back the way he had come. The flowers that marked her grave disappeared behind them, but her fur still glimmered silver in the light of the petals that grew from her skin. Once they were back to the beginning, she nudged him again into a tunnel hidden under a rock. He followed her lead without complaint. The warm scent of home washed over him as the tunnel opened up into a den. With careful movements, she eased the both of them down together, tails twining flat on the ground behind them, the sound of gentle heartbeats following Wilbur into the soothing darkness.

…

I was somewhere I didn't recognize.

When I had first blinked my eyes open to the long, brick halls, I hadn't even really questioned it. Winona and I had already experienced the strange flashbacks this place induced, and while I couldn't quite place a memory to this, it was my only assumption.

However, the longer I walked, the more I realized I genuinely had no clue where I was. The halls were long and twisting, dark and foreboding. Red brick, rough and unrefined, towered high above my head. It snagged on my skin as I ran my hand along it, the sensation keeping me grounded enough to keep from panicking.

The floors appeared to be made of cherry wood, although the accuracy of that assessment was something to be desired. There was very little light at all, and the light that was present was created from an occasional sconce that burned with gray fire. The crackle of the torches seemed unnaturally muffled, even when I was as close to one as I could get without risking my hair going up in flames.

I had been pacing these halls for what seemed like an hour at this point. The tunnel(?) twisted and turned on itself, but it never broke off into other pathways. Whether they were built to intentionally make one feel lost without actually being lost or if there was some other, more reasonable explanation, I couldn't even begin to guess. All I could really do was keep marching onwards, praying to see some sort of out or variation.

It seemed to be getting colder. Not the kind of chill you would associate with soft snow and warm fireplaces, but the snap of creeping ice. The kind that penetrated any protection from the elements with ease. My feet were starting to ache at this point, but I pressed forward. Something beckoned me to keep moving until the end, assuming there even was one.

My breath billowed out in clouds of mist in front of me. The drops of condensation settled on my eyelashes and crystallized almost immediately.

The red brick was starting to frost over as well. Beautiful, intricate swirls of frost patterned the walls, branching into thousands of little fractals and waves. As soon as I noticed this, I was stunned by its beauty. In my entire life, I had never seen such perfectly formed crystals. Again, I reached out to touch the wall, expecting the ice to melt under my touch, but it remained unaffected. Almost as though my body heat was nothing to the cold that had permeated this hallway. A quick glance at my fingers showed that the same ice had settled into the whorls of my fingerprints, gradually creeping along the lines of my palm and following the lines of my veins.

Distant voices reached me. They were faint, quiet, unassuming at first. Low murmurs and uncomfortably short responses. And, again, the longer I walked, the louder they got. And yes, they got louder, but they never grew understandable. I could not make out the voices or what they said. I could only assume what they would be about, and none of my assumptions were things I wanted to think of at this moment.

That didn't stop the guilt that they brought, though. I could tell, although I couldn't explain how, that if I managed to understand them, they would simply be repeating every sin I have ever committed. Every person I had ever wronged.

The list couldn't have been long. I had been isolated on Earth, far away from any others. The interactions I had typically were short and unassuming. And yet, no matter how short the list was, the fact was that there was one, and each one had sunk beneath my skin and left invisible scars.

Finally, finally, there seemed to be a break in the scenery. Somewhere up ahead, the walls curved inward to create a doorway. Even from a small distance, I could see the heavy wood making up the door, and the glittering, frosted metal that formed the hinges and doorknob. Here, the ice seemed to be at its sharpest. Icicles hung from the ceiling and patches of ice lined the flooring. Frost tinted the wooden grooves of the door a pale gray color.

I reached forward and placed my palm flat against the wood. Despite the cold snap, the wood felt strangely warm against my skin. Still, though, the frost remained heartily settled into it. The doorknob was warm as well, like it had recently been opened by someone.

I was unsure of my whereabouts and what any of it meant, but I couldn't help but follow the insatiable tug in my chest. Wherever I was meant to be right at this moment, it was somewhere beyond this door. In the heart of the frozen brick hallways.

The hinges protested with crackling squeals as I pushed it open. Ice splintered out from the disturbed metal, but it held surprisingly steady as the door swung aside to reveal a room.

It was still chilly here, but not nearly as cold as in the halls. While ice and frost still lined the corners, it seemed less solid and more slushy. I could hear water dripping from somewhere nearby, but I had no idea where it was. Really, though, it wasn't too important.

The walls were made with deep, red-brown wooden planks. They appeared to be perfectly aligned and without flaw sans the occasional knot in the wood. Gray stone bricks lined the doorway, each brick unnaturally smooth and polished. My shoes clicked uncomfortably loudly against the floor, a few shades darker than the wood forming the walls, and despite the higher temperatures, I couldn't help but feel myself shudder.

Despite feeling drawn to this place, it suddenly felt forbidden to stand here.

I should go back.

My thoughts were broken by the sound of a voice. This one was much more present than the voices I had heard before, and also a lot less directed. A flicker of movement caught my eyes, and a boy fluttered into view, cursing under his breath fiercely as he darted towards a fireplace standing opposite of the door.

The fire, if there ever had been one, had burnt out. A variety of logs and planks and kindling lay on the floor around it, as if someone had been trying to light it. This was what he seemed focused on, considering the paper he was crumbling into balls and tucking into the opening. If the precise, careful set-up of the kindling had any indication, the boy had been trying to light it for quite some time.

"Hello?" I tried calling.

Amber eyes darted towards me. He blinked a few times as if to clear his vision before shaking his head and turning back to what he was doing. "Gimme a moment," he muttered. "I promise, I can do this." I watched curiously as he shook out his hands. He took a small stick from the ground beside him (a match?) and struck it against the stone of the fireplace, lighting a small fire at the end. The second he touched it to the scrap paper, though, the flames flickered and died, seemingly smothered by some unknown force. He cursed again and threw the spent match with a groan.

"I don't understand!" He pulled himself back to his feet and flicked his hands once more, frowning in either displeasure or deep thought. "I've tried everything, and I can't get this stupid thing to light."

I came to stand beside him. I couldn't help but notice that his hands looked red and raw. Even as I watched, he winced and brought his hand to his mouth to pull a splinter out with his teeth. His eyes, while glittering with annoyance, were red and tired, and deepened with dark eyebags.

He must have been working at this for some time now.

"Why are you trying so hard to light it?" I asked. "Why don't you take a break?"

"Does it look like I can take a break?" He snapped. "Didn't you see what it's like out there?" As quickly as the anger appeared, though, it shifted into panic. "I'm on a time limit! Who knows how much longer this place has before it freezes over completely? Then what!?" His eyes darted towards me, then back to the unlit fire. "Grr, okay, okay, I can do this. I have to." He pushed past me as if to grab something else, but I touched his shoulder to stop him.

"You know, I've gotten pretty good at starting fires," I said with a smirk. "Lemme try."

The boy looked at me wearily. His eyes wavered, something uncertain and uncomfortable flickering in them. "How do I know I can trust you?" He demanded. "You're the reason it's gotten this bad in the first place. How do I know you won't make it worse?"

He was clearly scared. I couldn't even begin to completely understand his words. Why did he think I had anything to do with this place or the ice that was creeping over it? Still, though, I couldn't completely write off his fears. He seemed genuinely scared of me and my intentions.

I thought back to the voices that had followed me here. Something as simple as helping someone to start a fire wouldn't even begin to negate the bad things I've done, but at the very least, it was a start.

I didn't respond outwardly, but he didn't stop me from touching the kindling he had gathered. I was immediately able to tell what was wrong.

"Everything you've got here is soaked," I said. "Of course a fire's not going to light on it. Is there any more of this stuff where you found it?"

He still looked unsure. For a long, quiet moment, I wasn't sure if he would even react. This boy's distrust of me seemed to run quite deep, but it was clear he was desperate. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod and disappeared into the shadows.

It was only a few minutes later than he returned with fresh wood and kindling, this set much drier than the first. I cleaned the old fireplace of everything that wouldn't light and replaced it with careful, practiced hands. The entire time, the boy hovered uncomfortably by my shoulders, staring intensely at every movement. I couldn't tell whether he was studying me to learn what I did or if he was making sure I didn't do anything suspicious.
Once I was satisfied, I asked for a new match, which he only procured after a moment of hesitation. It took a few tries to get it to light on the stone, but soon enough, a tiny flame sparked to life at the end.

The fire took to the paper much easier than it had before. It quickly ate through the paper and moved on to the smaller twigs and scraps of wood. Soon, it flared to life, casting vibrant flickers of orange and red across the walls.

I turned to look once more at the boy to see his reaction, expecting to see excitement or relief on his face. Instead, I froze the second I lay eyes on him.

The boy that had been fretting over the fire had changed entirely in appearance. He no longer had the blazingly bright amber eyes or insanely messy mop of brown hair. Instead, the boy staring at the fire was now someone I recognized.

"It's that easy, huh?" Tyler muttered below his breath as he crossed his arms. His face was creased into something sad, maybe a little angry. "After how long I've tried…"

The stun from whiplash lasted only a few moments. I managed to snap myself out of it with a quick shake of my head. "Why were you…?"

"The place was freezing," he said, as if that explained anything. "What else could I do?"

"You were close, though," I said. "If the kindling had been drier, you would have had it ages ago."

"No, it wouldn't have. It never would have lit for me. I know that." His crossed arms slowly fell to his sides and he shook his head. "...still. I was the only one around to try."

Now that the flames were lit, the fire didn't seem to be going out any time soon. While the flames engulfed the wood, it didn't seem as if the wood was burning. It only needed to be lit, and I had a feeling that the tinder would last quite some time as long as nothing actively caused it to go out.

The frost that had settled so thoroughly into the wood grain had quickly begun to melt, leaving nothing behind but a slight residue where it once coated. Even without looking, I knew that the ice that had spread down the halls would be diminishing as well. Wherever this place was, it would be safe from freezing for a little longer.

"No use looking behind us now, though," Tyler spoke again, a sort of forced note of positivity entering his voice. "This is all we can really do for now. Hopefully, that'll last through Darkness."

"Last through… what do you mean?"

"Wilson, come on," he said with a despondent smirk. "Did you think your heart would survive that as it was? No, it wouldn't have been safe." He shook his head. "But that should shield it for a while, at least. You have some time."

I watched the movement of the flames for a moment. "You aren't… actually Tyler. Are you?"

There wasn't even a moment of hesitance before he was shaking his head. "No two people see me the same," he said. "A sibling, a soulmate, a companion. It depends. Though… it tends to stay the same. Hearts cry for the desire to repair what they believe they have broken. To fix what has been damaged. To gain forgiveness from those they've wronged." He glanced at me through the side of his eye. "Or sometimes, it is their own forgiveness they seek. It is my job to guide people towards their own forgiveness. The one you see is the one you feel you have wronged the most."

"Then why him?" I asked, unable to disguise the irritation spiking my voice. "Why nobody from my old life?"

"You never believed you wronged them," he said simply. "I believe you consider them to have wronged you. Or maybe you don't even think about them."

Before I could ask further questions, he raised one hand (the scarred one, although it appeared that he still had full control over it). "You have done all that you were needed here for. Darkness will bring you face-to-face with Them, but you have been protected the best you can. Go now, and prepare for the end." With that, he gave a sly, toothy grin. "It is coming soon."

I had a million questions I could think of to ask. Primarily, though, my questions surrounded the identity of this creature. The way they held themselves made me think they had been around for a long time, and the way that they spoke made me think they had an idea of what was to come. I knew for a fact this was not Nightmare. No, either this entity was benevolent, or they were very, very good at disguising themselves as such.

I couldn't even begin to ask any of the questions, though, because the light from the fire was growing brighter by the moment, brighter than any fire should possibly be, yet I couldn't look away. I couldn't do anything except close my eyes and accept it.

…

Whether it had been a few days or a few minutes, I couldn't tell. Before I even looked at the others, I could guess that the experience had been shared. If it wasn't the sensation of knowing rumbling in my chest, then it was the way the others seemed to suddenly snap back into awareness. Wilbur let out a low, mournful whine as his eyes refocused and Winona hissed under her breath. Wilson jerked violently and immediately pressed his palms into his eyes with a moan of pain.

For me, it was like suddenly taking a breath again after holding it. I instinctively winced at the sharp inhale, expecting to be swamped with the acidic stench of Nightmare fuel. Instead, however, the smell had vanished almost entirely.

With this realization, I finally took the time to observe my surroundings.

The land around us still bore scars. The grass was pale and any plantlife that was still alive was just baring clinging to life with yellow-brown leaves and scraggly branches. It would take some time for the animals to repopulate this area, but I could already hear the faint chirping of distant birds beginning to tentatively explore once more.

The Nightmare fuel had almost entirely drained away. Puddles still littered the ground here and there, burning intensely with a dark mockery of light.

More importantly than that, though, was the grand machine we had woken up in front of.

The only thing that ever changed about the Wooden Thing was the color its runes glowed (currently a sweet orchid-purple) and yet, I was sure I had never felt so awed to see it. It wasn't the appearance of it, but the circumstances leading up to this point. I couldn't explain what exactly my experience had been, but the sweet warmth left over from it still hovered in my chest. Instead of being shaken by nerves, I felt confident and bold.

My time to understand my purpose was quickly running out, but maybe it didn't matter. It would happen whether I was expecting it or not.

I turned to face the others. Winona furiously rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, clearly trying to push back tears. Wilbur stared at the Wooden Thing, hints of confusion sparking in his eyes but easily overshadowed by sheer determination.

Wilson… was giving me a strange look, one that I couldn't decipher. But really, he had given me a lot of strange looks as of late. I didn't even question it.

"That was an experience," Wilbur muttered as his tail flicked back and forth. "Didn't you guys say that was supposed to suck really bad?"

"That was… not what happened last time," Winona said. "That was… heh…" She shook her head, seemingly unable to really put her thoughts to words.

"We can talk about it later," I said sternly. This close to the machine, my heart felt as though it was pounding out of my chest. While I was sure this was something we would have a long, in-depth discussion about in the near future, I was not about to wait long enough for that conversation to happen. "This is the last step."

My confidence didn't seem to transfer over to the others. There were definitely nerves in the way they looked at each other and at me.

I wouldn't let their hesitance give me pause, though. We were so close. So close.

In the past, I had asked them before activating it. This time, fearing a negative answer, I didn't even bother.

We were so close to the end.

We were so close to being together again.