"What must I remember?"
"What?!"
"What?!"
"I need it now... now, Cecilion! Fast!"
Cecilion's own words exploded inside his mind, ricocheting like shards of glass in a sealed room. Each repetition splintered deeper, cutting through thought, memory, reason.
The forest around him twisted at the edges, shadows thickening as if the trees themselves recoiled. The air grew heavier—distorted by a pressure that existed only inside his head.
He clutched his skull, fingers digging into his temples, desperate to keep his unraveling thoughts from slipping through the cracks. The ground pitched slightly, and his knees buckled.
He swayed, caught in a storm only he could feel. A shrill, metallic ringing drowned out everything else—a siren that pulsed with the rhythm of panic.
