"Names and Faces"
The soft light of dawn filtered through the tall trees, painting the forest floor in gentle gold. Liora Valecrest stretched slowly, the chill of early morning brushing her skin. Her body felt light and unburdened, as if sleep had washed away not just fatigue, but something heavier—memories she hadn't yet fully recovered.
She rose from the soft moss, noticing how the sunlight touched her pale, blue-tipped hair. The reflection from a clear pool nearby caught her eye.
Her hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the color of moonlight. Her eyes, wide and deep sapphire, reflected the morning light like polished glass. Her skin was smooth and pale, and her slender frame moved with natural grace. Her small, nimble hands brushed over the fabric of her new clothes—fitted sleeves marked with faint, glowing patterns—reminding her of skills she had yet to consciously remember.
"…I look different," she whispered, tilting her head.
A soft rustle drew her attention. From between the trees, Aerun, the white wolf, emerged. His fur glimmered like fresh snow in the morning sun, strong and sleek. Eyes of clear, pale blue fixed on her calmly—intelligent and almost human in their awareness.
"You've been watching me all night," she said softly.
To ensure you would not vanish, Aerun's voice echoed gently in her mind.
"Vanish?" she asked.
Some souls wake… and fade again.
"…That sounds lonely," she said.
He did not deny it. Instead, he sat patiently, his tail swishing lightly.
She exhaled and straightened. "If we're going to talk, I should probably know your name."
He rose, massive and elegant, and spoke clearly in her mind.
I am called Aerun.
"Aerun," she repeated softly. "It suits you."
He flicked his ears—a subtle, almost shy gesture.
"And you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
"…I am Liora Valecrest," she replied, letting the name settle into the air. "I… don't know if it matters anymore."
Names matter, Aerun said calmly. Especially the ones you choose to keep.
She nodded, a quiet acceptance filling her chest. Her gaze wandered to the distant ruins peeking through the morning mist—stone arches wrapped in vines and a faint blue glow, similar to the patterns on her clothes.
"Where are we?" she asked.
This forest is Lunareth Grove, he said. A place where magic listens more than it speaks.
"That explains the silence," she murmured.
As she walked, she studied herself in the sunlight—hair flowing, pale skin catching the light, eyes deep and alert. Every movement was fluid, natural, and strong in its quiet grace.
You look alive, Aerun said simply.
She touched her cheek and smiled faintly. "I guess that's enough."
They walked together deeper into Lunareth Grove, the new day unfolding slowly around them. For the first time since waking, the forest felt less like a mystery—and more like a beginning.
The forest remained quiet for a long while.
Liora broke the silence first. "Aerun… is this world always this peaceful?"
He did not answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the distant ruins, half-hidden by mist.
Peace exists here, he said at last. But it is not common beyond the grove.
She followed his line of sight. "What happens outside?"
Power is valued above warmth, Aerun replied. Strength above care. Magic is used to conquer, not to mend.
"That sounds… exhausting," Liora murmured.
It is, he agreed. Many survive. Few truly live.
She wrapped her arms around herself, absorbing his words. "Then why bring me here?"
Aerun's tail stilled.
Because this forest listens, he said quietly. And it chose differently.
Liora lowered her gaze to her hands—hands meant for cutting vegetables, stirring pots, offering meals.
"…I don't know how to fight," she admitted.
You do not need to, Aerun said. This world has enough blades.
A pause followed.
Her stomach tightened then, a familiar ache breaking through the heaviness.
"…But I do know how to cook," she said softly.
Aerun turned toward her, his blue eyes calm and steady.
As the sun climbed higher, a sharp hunger finally broke through Liora's sense of wonder. It was a grounded, unmistakably human feeling—a reminder that despite her new, ethereal body and blue-tipped hair, she still needed to eat.
She looked down at the silver ring on her finger. In her old life, a ring had been nothing more than jewelry. Here, it was a gateway.
I remember this, she thought, closing her eyes.
She reached inward, toward the pocket of space bound to the ring. With a soft shimmer, a small iron pot, a bundle of carrots, several scallion-like herbs she didn't recognize, and a jar of coarse salt appeared on the moss beside her.
"A spatial ring," she murmured. "A standard starter kit for a new world, I suppose."
Aerun watched her with quiet curiosity as she gathered dry branches nearby. She didn't have a lighter, but when she reached for the wood, the faint patterns along her sleeves began to glow. With a focused thought—more intent than effort—a small, steady flame caught.
"In my world," she whispered to herself, "we used switches and buttons for this."
She filled the pot with water from the clear pool. Her hands moved with a practiced rhythm she hadn't realized she possessed—peeling, dicing, seasoning. As the water began to bubble, she added the herbs. The scent of savory broth and fresh earth rose into the air, blending beautifully with the sweet, unfamiliar perfume of Lunareth Grove.
You create scents that do not belong to this forest, Aerun observed, his nose twitching. They smell of… elsewhere.
"They smell of home," Liora replied softly, her voice catching. "Or at least, what I think home used to be."
When the soup was ready, she ladled it into a small wooden bowl. After a moment's hesitation, she placed a portion of the vegetables and broth onto a flat, clean stone near the wolf.
"I don't know if giant, telepathic wolves enjoy Earth-style cooking, Aerun," she said lightly. "But it's better than eating alone."
Aerun studied the rising steam, then her sapphire eyes. Lowering his head, he took a slow, careful taste. A deep rumble of approval vibrated in his chest, like distant thunder.
It tastes of order, he said at last. And of a world very far away.
Liora sat back, sipping her own soup. The warmth spread through her chest, grounding her soul within this unfamiliar body. The forest was strange, her hair was blue, and she was speaking with a wolf—but the taste of salt and broth remained comfortingly the same.
"It's a start," she whispered, gazing toward the distant ruins.
"One meal at a time."