The first thing I notice is that silence is no longer empty.
It is occupied.
Like someone is standing inside it, breathing very softly, waiting for me to acknowledge them.
My eyes are open again.
I think.
But “open” doesn’t feel accurate anymore.
There are two layers of sight now.
One grounded in the infirmary—the broken ward lines, the cracked stone, Rylan still gripping my hand like letting go would mean losing me completely.
And another layer… deeper.
Older.
Where the same room exists, but not damaged.
Not bleeding energy.
Whole.
Perfectly aligned.
Rylan is in both versions.
In one, he is tense, exhausted, barely holding himself together.
In the other, he is still—but watching me like he already knows I am not alone inside myself anymore.
I blink.
Both versions respond
