CHAPTER THREE — THE FIRST MEMORY
680 Words
Jack stepped towards the glowing hollow, Eliza’s hand still woven tightly through his. The warmth coming from the split ash tree brushed their faces, soft and rhythmic — like breath. Or a heartbeat.
The forest behind them had sealed itself completely now. Branches overlapped like a woven wall, the path swallowed whole.
They had no way back.
Eliza drew in a shaky breath. “Jack… look inside.”
He did.
The hollow wasn’t just glowing — it was shifting. The light twisted in moving strands, almost like liquid, almost like smoke. It curled into patterns that flickered too quickly to make out, shapes fitting together and then falling apart again.
“Do you see that?” Eliza whispered.
Jack nodded. “It’s… showing something.”
The air thickened, humming against their skin. Jack stepped closer — just enough that the light brushed the front of his shirt. For a brief moment, warmth rushed through him, curling under his ribs and pulsing outward like an echo.
“Eliza,” he breathed, “it feels… familiar.”
She moved beside him, drawn forward without hesitation. “I know. Like I’ve stood here before.”
As she spoke, the light inside the hollow stilled.
Paused.
And then it formed a shape.
Not a symbol this time.
A scene.
Faint at first, then clearer: two figures standing where Jack and Eliza stood now. A young man and woman — maybe twenty, maybe younger — their hands clasped, their faces tense but determined.
Eliza’s grip on Jack tightened. “Jack… that’s—”
“Our parents,” he finished, throat tightening.
The vision sharpened. The forest looked the same, but the clearing was brighter, more open. Lanterns hung from branches. Villagers formed a circle, watching the two young figures.
A voice echoed through the clearing, neither loud nor soft — just undeniable.
“Let the line continue. Let the bond remain unbroken.”
Jack’s heart hammered.
Eliza’s breath hitched.
The two figures in the vision stepped into the hollow of the ash tree — together.
The scene collapsed back into light.
The hollow went dark.
For a long moment, Jack and Eliza stood motionless, the silence ringing louder than the ticking ever had.
“My mum…” Eliza whispered, shaking. “That was my mum.”
“And my dad,” Jack said. “They made some kind of vow. Together.”
“But why?” Her voice cracked. “Why didn’t they ever tell us?”
Jack didn’t answer — because the ground beneath them trembled.
A sharp jolt passed through their feet, then another, like something deep in the earth shifting its weight.
The air warmed suddenly — too suddenly. Jack lifted his head.
“Eliza… step back.”
But before either of them could move, the hollow blazed again, erupting in a burst of white light that wrapped around them like a wave.
Jack shouted her name, reaching for her—
And the forest vanished.
Everything — the trees, the earth, the cold air — dissolved into brightness. The light surged around them, weightless and warm, swallowing up sound and sensation. Jack felt himself falling and standing still all at once, Eliza’s hand slipping, then catching, then slipping again.
“Eliza!” he called, though he wasn’t sure his voice carried in this place.
A whisper rose through the brightness:
“Remember.”
The light contracted sharply — snapping back into form.
And Jack’s boots struck solid ground.
He staggered, dizzy, vision swimming.
But the forest around him was gone.
He wasn’t in Heathsteady anymore.
“Eliza?” he choked, panic clawing up his throat. “Eliza!”
No answer.
Just the wind, soft and unfamiliar, brushing over tall grass in a place he had never seen.
And then, far behind him — distant but clear — her voice:
“Jack!”
She wasn’t nearby.
She wasn’t even in sight.
They had been separated.
Jack swallowed hard, his pulse thundering in his ears.
The forest had chosen them — but not together.
And whatever this place was…
it was only the beginning.
- Writer
