Chapter 11: A Day At A Realm Cafe Part Two

The morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Realm Café, casting slow waves of pastel light across the wooden floor. Colors danced across empty teacups and chipped plates. A dreamy calm had settled over the space, like the café itself was holding its breath.

Nestled against Antic's side, No Eyes lay still. Her breathing was soft, but uneven. The energy around her, usually pulsing like moonlight, was dim now—fragile, like a candle at the end of its wick.

Her head rested against Antic's bare shoulder, her long single braid trailing down his lap, her curly bangs damp with sweat. Sugar plum dust clung to both of them like sparkles after a strange celebration. A thin line of sticky glitter traced the curve of Antic's chest where she'd been pressed against him all night.

He didn't move.

Antic sat quietly—shockingly so. His overalls hung loosely off one shoulder, rumpled and dusted in sugar from last night's chaos. The empty Love Potion Latte sat sideways on the table, its contents long dried into a syrupy mess.

His usual swagger had vanished, replaced by something almost reverent.

He reached up and gently tucked her bangs away from her face. His hand paused, hovering for a second too long, fingers trembling slightly.

"You're so weird when you're quiet," he muttered under his breath. "It's like I've been yelling this whole time just to hear you breathe."

She didn't stir.

Her body remained limp, her face unreadable. But her fingers were faintly twitching—as if reaching for something from a dream.

The Love Potion Latte had been a mistake. Grin warned them not to touch it. So of course Dolly dared someone to drink it, Grin stormed off in dramatic protest, Antic shrugged, and then No Eyes... sipped it. Just a little. Just enough to turn the night sideways.

The fairy's dust, still dancing in the air, had deepened the effect.

No Eyes hadn't just fallen asleep. She'd collapsed into a vision. One of fragmented memories she had no name for. Echoes of warmth and sadness. Faces she didn't know. A voice. A smell. A feeling that clawed at her heart, wordless and deep.

Even now, hours later, the café still shimmered with the echo of whatever she'd seen.

Across the room, Grin reappeared with a steaming mug of restorative brew, his usual dramatic flair gone, replaced by a haunting stillness. He set it on the table beside her with unusual care.

"She'll need this when she wakes," he murmured.

Dolly, who had climbed onto a barstool with her porcelain legs dangling like a child's, didn't speak. Her usual snark was gone. Even her glassy eyes seemed heavier than usual.

No Eyes twitched again. Her lips parted slightly.

Antic froze.

Then—finally—her eyes opened.

Glowing and pale. Glowing and empty. Glowing like the moon had chosen her eyes to live in.

But her gaze—while blind—turned directly toward him.

"...It was a dream," she whispered, voice thin and hoarse. "Or a memory... maybe..."

Antic exhaled, shoulders dropping. "You scared the crap outta me."

She blinked, confused.

"I... did?" she asked, sitting up slowly. Her hands brushed the floor as if anchoring herself.

He nodded. "You weren't talking. Or breathing normal. Or moving. I almost punched Grin in the face."

Grin muttered from the corner. "He did punch me. Twice."

"Self-defense," Antic replied flatly.

No Eyes touched her chest lightly, confused. "But I just closed my eyes."

"You passed out after a sip of cursed romance foam and a fairy exploded in your face."

She tilted her head. "...Oh. That explains the sugar."

Her dress clung to her shoulder with one ripped strap, revealing part of her collarbone. Antic glanced once, then immediately turned his head and groaned. Blood immediately dripped from his nose.

Dolly broke the silence. "He's leaking again."

"Shut up," Antic barked, pressing his hand over his nose.

No Eyes frowned. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he croaked. "Just... allergic to emotions."

She nodded slowly. "I didn't know noses could cry."

Grin, sipping his own brew, whispered, "Mine cries during poetry."

Dolly rolled her eyes hard enough to crack ceramic.

No Eyes took a shaky sip of the restorative tea. The warmth spread down her throat, curling in her belly like a lullaby. The fragments of memory still danced on the edge of her consciousness: the woman with red hair. The woman with stormy eyes. The jasmine. The fire. The lullaby.

"Who were they?" she asked, not to anyone specific. "Why did it feel... good? And also not-good?"

"Maybe they were people you knew," Grin offered gently. "People who mattered. Sometimes we forget faces, but our souls remember the way they held us."

No Eyes tilted her head. "...Is that love?"

The room paused.

Antic looked away quickly, face flushing again.

No Eyes blinked. "That word keeps happening around me."

Dolly gave a short laugh. "Sweetheart, it's been happening to you. You just haven't noticed."

No Eyes turned to Antic, eyes glowing faintly. "Is something happening to me?"

Antic's lips parted, his brain short-circuiting as he met her gaze.

"I... uh—what kind of happening are we talking about?" he stammered.

She looked down at their hands, which had accidentally touched. "My chest feels warm. Is that part of the sickness?"

Antic's nose gushed again.

Grin slapped a napkin onto his face without looking up. "Love Potion Side Effect #4: Emotional Nose Leakage."

Antic groaned behind the napkin. "Kill me."

No Eyes stared at him curiously. "I don't want you to die."

He peeked over the napkin, eyes glassy. "Thanks."

"You make the room warmer," she added simply.

Antic blinked. "Okay. That's not helping."

Grin whispered, "It's helping me."

No Eyes tilted her head again. "I think I like warm."

Antic laughed nervously. "Yeah. Me too."

The group fell into a quiet rhythm after that. No Eyes curled into the window seat with her tea, her single braid draped over her lap. Antic sat nearby, trying not to pass out from blood loss. Dolly resumed sharpening her fork, probably for fun. Grin began scribbling down poetry like a man mourning someone he hadn't met yet.

The sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Realm Café in slow, golden ribbons. The light melted across the wooden floor in delicate pools, painting the velvet armchairs in lazy pastels. Somewhere in the distance, a spoon clinked softly — a sound so quiet it might've been imagined.

No Eyes sat curled up in one of the chairs, her small frame tucked into its plush curves like a question left unanswered. Her braid spilled across her shoulder, curling down her side like a thread waiting to be pulled. Her curly bangs hung damp near her temple, catching the fractured light.

She didn't speak. She didn't cry. But stillness spoke louder than sound ever could.

Antic paced nearby — shirtless, of course — his overalls hanging precariously off one shoulder. He looked like someone who had too many feelings and no pockets to store them in. His bare chest was dusted in sugar from yesterday's disaster and just faintly golden from the sunlight that refused to stop spotlighting him.

He stopped. Turned. Started to say something. Stopped again.

Why does she look like that? So quiet. Like she's drifting off the planet and I can't grab her fast enough.

He swallowed and shuffled closer.

"I, uh... brought plums," he mumbled, awkwardly holding out a bowl like it was some ancient sacred offering. "Not cursed. I think."

No Eyes didn't move.

"They're your favorite," he added quickly. "I think. I mean, you ate them once and didn't spit them at me."

Still nothing.

Antic ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling through his teeth.

"Okay. New plan."

He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, pulled a small flute from his back pocket — roughly carved, forest-worn, clearly handmade — and pressed it to his lips.

No chaos this time. No showy high notes or dramatic flair.

Just one soft, solemn melody.

It started low, then wandered higher. It sounded like the kind of song someone plays after ruining something beautiful and wanting to fix it — not with words, but with quiet. An apology in sound. A song for guilt. A lullaby for regret.

No Eyes stirred slightly, her head tipping to the side as she listened. But she still said nothing.

Dolly sat poised on the armrest like a judge in a courtroom of emotions. She crossed her porcelain legs dramatically and sighed.

"Well," she began, "since everyone's doing emotional therapy hour, I suppose I could share my childhood trauma again."

Antic stopped playing.

"Please don't," he muttered.

Too late.

"With the haunted toymaker?" Dolly continued grandly. "The guillotine tea party? The boiling glue vat of despair?"

No Eyes finally blinked. "Glue can boil?"

Grin chuckled from the shadows near the bookshelf, arms crossed, his long frame leaning into the dim light like a specter made of comfort.

"It can," he said, "but it shouldn't."

"And it did," Dolly added, proudly wounded. "All over my second life. I still smell faintly of citrus disaster."

No Eyes let out a breath. A strange little sound somewhere between a sigh and a giggle.

Antic froze mid-note. His entire soul swiveled toward her.

"Did you just laugh?" he asked, voice half-cracked.

No Eyes tilted her head. "Maybe."

"That counts. That counts," he said, scrambling upright. "That's at least half a point."

"I wasn't keeping score."

"Well, I am."

He beamed. Her blank stare made him nervous.

Then, softly: "You play well."

Antic blinked. "Oh. Uh. Thanks."

"You're better when you don't try to impress people."

Dolly snorted. Grin choked on his drink.

Antic flushed from the neck up. "Okay. Rude. Accurate. But rude."

No Eyes shrugged lightly, curling further into the chair. "You asked me to be honest."

"Not devastatingly honest."

She tilted her head again. "Is that what honesty does?"

He looked at her — really looked at her — and his chest did that weird fluttering thing again. The same thing it did whenever she accidentally stared at him too long or said something that shattered him without trying.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"You don't know what you do to people, do you?"

No Eyes blinked. "What am I doing?"

Dolly flopped dramatically against the back of the chair. "He's melting."

Grin smirked, voice low. "She's breaking him in half."

Antic threw up his arms. "Okay, this is bullying. Emotional bullying."

"You deserve it," Dolly replied.

No Eyes reached toward the bowl of plums. She picked one up delicately, holding it with both hands like it was a precious stone.

"I had another dream," she said suddenly. "The women came back."

Antic instantly quieted. So did everyone else.

"One had red hair. One had storm eyes. They smelled like... jasmine and fire. Like warmth and loss."

She paused. "They were trying to reach me. But I couldn't move. I couldn't... speak."

Her voice was calm. But her eyes glowed just a little brighter.

"I think they love me. But I don't know who they are. Or why it hurts."

No one moved.

Then Antic, softly: "That sounds like memory. The painful kind."

"Is that what love is?" she asked. "Painful memory?"

Antic's entire brain short-circuited.

"I—uh—love is..." He rubbed his face. "It's a lot of things. Good ones. Weird ones. Not always painful."

"You bled from your nose after I fell asleep on you."

"Okay, that was unrelated!"

Dolly scoffed. "Was it?"

Grin nodded. "Definitely related."

No Eyes leaned forward slightly. "So love is... bleeding and music and confusion?"

"I—no—well—kind of?" Antic stammered, tugging at his overall strap. "Look, love is complicated."

She stared at him with wide, curious eyes.

"I think I'm experiencing a complication," she whispered. "Every time you play the flute, my chest feels... lighter. But I also want to cry."

Antic's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Grin broke the silence. "Sounds about right."

"Should I be concerned?" No Eyes asked seriously.

"No," Antic muttered, pink in the face again. "You should be careful. Complications get worse if you feed them."

She took another bite of the plum.

"I like complications," she said softly.

Antic just sat there, stunned, the heat climbing to his ears.

No Eyes blinked. "You're red."

"I'm emotionally malfunctioning."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm—NO—YES—I don't know—why are you like this?"

She smiled. Just barely. "I'm trying to understand."

And somehow that was worse...

"Fresh air," Grin said, voice low, steady. Like the idea had been growing in his chest for a while. "Might do us all some good."

No one spoke for a beat.

Dolly blinked up from the thread she was using to reattach her shoulder. "Grin, did... did you just suggest a picnic?"

Grin merely shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded like the idea wasn't as revolutionary as it felt. His usual aura of melancholic gloom had thinned, replaced with something... quieter. Softer. Like he wasn't waiting for something to go wrong for once.

No Eyes tilted her head, braid coiled across her lap, listening.

Antic paused mid-humming, one hand deep in a bag of sugar, the other holding a plum he'd probably already licked. "Picnic?" he echoed, suspiciously bright-eyed. "In the forest? With blankets and snacks and no real plan whatsoever?"

He was already moving before anyone agreed.

Within twenty minutes, the café was in chaos.

Antic, barefoot and completely shirtless beneath his overalls, darted around the kitchen like a storm in a pantry. One strap of his overalls had slipped again — deliberately or otherwise — and he didn't seem to notice or care. A loaf of bread dangled from his mouth as he stacked cheeses onto a plate with questionable elegance.

Dolly clung to the edge of the picnic basket like she was riding into battle. "Do not let that cake slide. If even one chocolate curl falls out of place, I'm holding a séance and haunting your love life."

"Already cursed, babe," Antic muttered, tossing a bundle of figs into the basket. "Bring on the spirits."

He whistled tunelessly — a cheery mess of a melody — as he packed bright fruits that shimmered in the light, cheeses that looked like they might bite back, and a chocolate cake so excessive it looked like it belonged in a royal banquet or a food-based seduction ritual. Probably both.

He looked over his shoulder. "No Eyes! You allergic to anything besides emotional intimacy?"

No Eyes, perched silently by the door, didn't flinch. "What's a picnic?"

That stopped Antic in his tracks. "Oh, sweetheart. You're about to find out."

The Perennial Forest opened like a dream.

As they stepped beyond the edge of the Realm Café's magical wards, the world changed. Light here wasn't sunlight — not really. It was softer. Dappled. Like moonlight through honey. Trees stretched tall, ancient and humming with quiet power. Every step on the mossy ground sank gently, springy and cool beneath their feet.

There were no bugs. No sharp branches. Just the low, melodic hum of the Breaths, winding through the trees like invisible music. Their voices were barely more than a breeze — a song you half-remembered from your childhood, even if you never heard it.

No Eyes walked slowly, her fingers grazing the bark of passing trees, her braid swaying behind her. Though she could not see them, she felt the Breaths. She always had. And they felt her too.

Their presence gathered — like whispers curling close.

The clearing bloomed into view — a gentle dip in the forest floor, ringed by soft hills of moss and glowing petals. The sunlight broke through the canopy in long, golden beams that shifted gently as the trees swayed.

Antic threw down the blanket like he was claiming territory.

"Ta-daaaa~!" He turned dramatically, arms wide, chest gleaming with a bit too much pride for someone who nearly dropped the cake twice on the way. "Welcome to my kingdom. Population: snacks."

Grin raised a brow. Dolly flopped onto the moss with a theatrical groan. "If there's not wine, I'm invoking ancient doll law and suing."

"There's plum cider," Antic said, offering her a bottle sealed with a wax stamp and an unnecessarily complicated cork.

Dolly snatched it. "You're safe. For now."

No Eyes sat down carefully, her hand trailing the blanket's fabric. She tilted her face up, sensing the warmth filtering through the trees. Her voice was quiet. "This place feels... like something's watching."

Antic knelt beside her, balancing a plate of strawberries. "The forest is always watching. But it likes you. You've got the 'haunting-but-beautiful' vibe."

"I don't know what that means," she said honestly.

"I know," he muttered. "It's terrifying."

They ate in stretches of silence — the good kind. The kind that didn't need filling. Bread broke with a soft crunch. Fruit juice stained fingers. Antic occasionally wiped icing off his stomach with the edge of the blanket. No one had the heart to stop him.

No Eyes sat with her legs folded, slowly biting into a glowing peach. She chewed thoughtfully.

"This tastes... happy."

Antic choked on his wine.

"That's... that's not how taste works, babe."

She looked at him. "Then why does my chest feel warm?"

He blinked. Rubbed the back of his neck.

"I think that's called enjoyment."

"I thought that was a lie people tell at parties."

"No," Dolly interjected. "That's charisma."

Charades was Antic's idea, obviously.

Grin looked at him like he was suggesting a group ritual summoning. "You want her to play a visual game."

"It's interpretive," Antic said, already miming something ridiculous. "I'll use emotionally charged interpretive dance. She'll feel it."

No Eyes cocked her head. "You want me to guess what you're doing by listening to you fall over things?"

"Exactly!" Antic grinned. "Now close your eyes."

"I can't open them."

"Perfect. You're ahead of the game."

What followed could only be described as unhinged brilliance.

Antic attempted to act out "existential dread" by spinning in circles, clutching his head, and throwing himself into a bush. No Eyes, somehow, guessed it instantly.

"Is it what you feel when you wake up next to responsibility?"

Antic stopped mid-flop. "...Yes?"

Dolly's "Romeo and Juliet" performance included a twig balcony, a melodramatic faint, and her wig falling off.

Grin was assigned "Death." He simply stood there, unmoving.

"Is it... you?" No Eyes asked, lips quirking.

He nodded once.

As dusk settled, the forest shifted.

Fireflies began to rise from the moss. The Breaths' song grew louder, not in volume, but in closeness. They curled between the trees like silver ribbons, spinning around the small fire Antic conjured with a careless flick.

No Eyes sat close to the flame, her braid glowing orange in the light. She pressed her knees to her chest, gaze turned toward the heat, though her eyes couldn't see it.

"I remembered something," she said quietly.

Antic stilled. So did everyone else.

"A woman with red hair. Her voice shook when she sang. I didn't understand the words. But they felt... like being rocked."

She exhaled. "And the scent. Jasmine and smoke. It made me want to cry."

The fire popped. Sparks drifted up like fireflies on vacation.

Antic swallowed. His voice, for once, dropped to a near whisper. "She sounds important."

No Eyes nodded once. "I think she loved me. But she wasn't allowed to."

Grin shifted beside her. "That's not uncommon."

Dolly sniffled dramatically. "If she shows up I'm stabbing her."

No Eyes smiled.

Later, as the fire dimmed and the stars took over the sky, Antic lay beside her. Their shoulders didn't touch, but his arm was close. Too close.

"I can hear your heartbeat," No Eyes whispered.

"You're not supposed to mention that," he murmured back.

She leaned slightly, her braid brushing his ribs.

"Your breath stutters when I touch you."

Antic rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky like it had answers. "You're terrifying."

"You said that already."

"I meant it both times."

A pause.

Then — quietly, impossibly gently — she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Do picnics always feel like this?" she asked.

"Only the ones where I almost kiss someone and die about it."

"I don't understand that."

He laughed, soft and aching. "I know."

And she stayed.

The fire had burned low — not out, just low.Its soft embers pulsed like tiny dying stars, flickering gold and orange and whispering little sparks into the dark. Every so often, a log cracked in half, sending shadows dancing up the moss-covered trees like ghosts stretching their arms.

Grin sat like a statue, back against a twisted root, one long leg bent, the other stretched out. His presence was heavy and still — the kind of stillness that made birds land on him, thinking he was stone.Pecola was tucked against his side, a small, curved presence beside all that tall, death-born stillness. Her braid draped across her lap, her hands quiet. Her head tilted slightly toward the warmth coming off Grin's shoulder, and yet her expression was distant. Not empty — drifting.

She was somewhere else.

The fire flickered in her blind gaze as if reflecting images only she could see.

A woman's voice.Laughing, then crying. Both sounds impossibly tangled.The smell of jasmine, curling through smoke.Lullabies in a language she didn't know she knew.

Pecola blinked. Her lips parted just slightly.

"…It's different," she murmured, barely louder than the fire.

Antic looked up from his ridiculous constellation of rocks and twigs. He was crouched by the edge of the fire like he was trying to summon a zodiac with sheer determination.

His eyes, usually gleaming with mischief, softened as he looked at her.

"Different how?" he asked.

His voice didn't joke. It didn't tease. It was low, steady — careful, like if he breathed too loud, she might stop talking.

She didn't look toward him — she never had to. Her face turned toward the fire, blank but alive with something flickering just under the surface.

"I don't know," she said. Then her fingers curled in her lap, slowly. "Like I'm… being seen."

Antic tilted his head. "Seen?" He tried to smile, tried to keep it light. "I mean, I've always thought you were pretty hard to miss."

But she wasn't joking.

She shook her head gently. "Not just by you. By all of you. I don't mean looked at. I mean—" Her brow furrowed. "Understood. Even if none of you know me... it feels like you feel me. And I don't know what to do with that."

Across the fire, Grin shifted slightly. He hadn't spoken in a while. His bony fingers paused from absently brushing moss. Then, in his gravel-and-silk voice, he said:"Understanding doesn't always come from knowledge. Sometimes it comes from... carrying the weight of silence with someone."

Dolly, lying dramatically atop a boulder like a fainting actress mid-monologue, let out a wistful sigh."Oh, the weight of silence! How romantic!" she crooned. "My heart, my soul, my second hand-sewn kidney—all resonate!"Then she flipped over with a groan. "But also — let's not forget how fun it is to speculate. I bet you were royalty. Or cursed. Or both. Cursed royalty."

Antic snorted.

No Eyes sat a little ways off, cross-legged, her posture loose. Her glowing white eyes watched the fire without blinking, but Pecola felt her quiet nod, sensed the shift in her energy. She was listening. Deeply.

The moment stretched, held together by firelight and half-spoken things.

Later, when laughter faded and bodies shifted into sleep — Grin slouched with arms folded, Dolly snoring suspiciously like a chainsaw wrapped in lace — only two figures remained fully awake beside the dying fire.

Pecola.And Antic.

She sat with her knees drawn up, braid trailing behind her like a tether. Her face was tilted toward the flame, eyes unmoving but focused, as though watching something beyond its light. She didn't say anything.

Neither did Antic — not at first.

He sat beside her, legs stretched forward, arms resting lazily behind him. His overalls had slipped off one shoulder again, revealing the curve of his collarbone, dusted with soot and ash. A faint smudge crossed his cheek, likely chocolate, possibly char.

He didn't fix it.

He didn't move.

For once, his chaos had stilled.

Pecola shifted slightly. "You're warm."

Antic looked over, surprised. "Me?"

She nodded. "I didn't think you'd be warm."

He blinked. "…Rude."

"I mean it as a compliment."

Antic gave a small laugh. "Well, now I'm blushing. So. Great. Thanks."

She turned her face a little toward him, the faintest smile on her lips. "I can't tell."

"Good," he whispered, brushing his hair back, just a little flustered. "Because it's really bad. Like, dangerously attractive levels of fluster."

Silence.

Then—her voice, soft again:

"Thank you."

Antic's expression softened instantly. He tilted toward her. "For what?"

"For this." She gestured vaguely, blindly — toward the fire, the moss, the sky, the laughter now turned to soft snoring. "For staying. For not making me feel like a… thing. Or a mistake. Or something broken."

Antic's breath caught. Then — carefully — he reached out. Not fast. Not bold.

His hand hovered above hers. Then lowered.

Their fingers touched.

Then curled.Not grasping. Not holding. Just… fitting.

His skin was calloused, warm. Her hand was delicate. And yet the stillness between them said more than either could say aloud.

The fire popped softly.

"You're not broken, Pecola," Antic murmured. "You're just... unfolding."

Her throat tightened. She didn't know what to say. So she didn't say anything.

She just leaned — subtly — until her shoulder brushed his arm.

He didn't move away.

She didn't need eyes to feel the smile that crept across his face.

"Can I tell you something?" he whispered.

She nodded.

He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. "I think you're incredible. Even when you're quiet. Especially then."

Her breath hitched.

Then — impulsively — his fingers lifted, just enough to trace a line along her cheek.A feather-light touch. Tender. Hesitant.

She didn't flinch.

But her voice was a whisper: "This… this feeling. I don't know what it is."

Antic smiled, just barely.

"That makes two of us."

Above them, the trees swayed like they were keeping secrets.The Breaths sang low and soft, curling around their figures like silk and memory.A lullaby in a language only the forest understood.

And in that firelight hush, two souls sat shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, hearts fluttering quietly — unsure of the shape of what they were feeling, but knowing, without question, that this meant something.

The forest held its breath.

And something inside them both whispered:

Let this stay

he fire had quieted to a soft pulse, barely more than breath.Its dying light flickered across No Eyes' cheek, casting shadows beneath her lashes and gold across Antic's chest.

He hadn't moved. His hand still rested in her hair, fingers lightly brushing the strands near her temple. She could feel each pass, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the curve of her head. Not claiming her. Just… staying.

She didn't know when she fell asleep.Only that she'd wanted to.

The forest woke in silence.

Light dripped down through the leaves, warm and amber. Mist still clung to the roots.No Eyes stirred, feeling Antic's heartbeat under her cheek. His skin was warm against her palm, his shoulder steady beneath her.

His voice came as a whisper. "You always sleep this pretty?"

No Eyes blinked slowly, her lips parting into a small smile. "I wouldn't know."

Antic chuckled — low, sleepy. "I would."

She sat up, her braid sliding across his arm. He didn't move to pull away. Instead, his fingers trailed down the braid like it was the last thread tying them together.

Around them, the camp began to shift.

Grin rose from the moss, bones creaking like bark. He crouched near the dying fire, running a bony hand through the ash. "We've lingered long enough."

Dolly flopped dramatically out of her blanket, one hand pressed to her forehead. "Finally! My porcelain is practically molding in this moisture."

Even No Eyes — the version who was always watching — turned toward the tree line, as if sensing the shift. She didn't speak, but something in her posture said it: It's time.

No Eyes stood with the others, shoulders square. Her memories — the lullaby, the scent of jasmine and smoke, the woman with fire in her hair — had given her clarity, but not answers. The Breaths were still in danger. The forest had helped her feel. But now it was telling her to move.

"I don't know what's ahead," she said, her voice quiet but grounded, "but I know we can't stay here."

Antic stretched, one suspender hanging off his bare shoulder, a twig stuck in his hair. "Yeah, about that…"

He fished into one of his side pouches, pulled out a candy wrapper, then tossed it. "So, remember how we've been mostly winging it since the sugar fairy incident?"

Grin sighed. "You're about to tell us something stupid, aren't you?"

"No," Antic replied, completely lying. "I'm about to tell you something extremely helpful and only slightly stupid."

He straightened, grinning. "I have a map. Not the only one — but mine's very enchanted. Tracks leyline routes, pulse flows, weather moods, blood pressure. It's got the good stuff. Also, I may have doodled on it."

Dolly blinked. "And where is this miracle document?"

Antic rubbed the back of his neck. "In the Wildlife Realm. Under a rock. Possibly beside my toothbrush. Which might also be alive now."

No Eyes tilted her head. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I didn't think we'd need it this soon. Also, a sugar fairy was dive-bombing our drinks and someone tried to kiss a mushroom."

Dolly lifted her hand. "It was talking to me."

No Eyes stepped forward, braid swaying behind her, hands at her sides. "Then we go get it."

Antic blinked. "That's it? No 'I told you so?'"

"You're very exhausting to argue with," she said evenly. "It's more efficient to walk."

He lit up. "Gods, I love that tone. It's like a hug made out of sarcasm."

Grin rolled his shoulders. "Wildlife Realm it is."

They packed slowly, but not aimlessly.

It wasn't a goodbye — not really. More like an exhale. The forest didn't resist. The Breaths didn't call them back. They simply watched, their ethereal presence humming like breath on glass, encouraging.

No Eyes turned toward the edge of the forest.Antic moved beside her without needing to be asked.

His fingers brushed hers, casual. Then they laced.

"I'm not letting you do this alone," he said.

"I wasn't planning to."

And that was that.