1993

It’s been sixty-seven months since Vecna was defeated. Sixty-seven months since Eleven disappeared.

Moving on has never really been an option for you. While the rest of the Party went off to college and started chasing their futures, you stayed in Hawkins. Writing. Thinking. Writing some more. Always about her. Eleven.

You keep coming back to that theory you shared during the last D&D campaign with your friends. The one about the mage escaping and going somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. Somewhere with three waterfalls.

So when you came across a brochure for a small village in Iceland, you knew what you had to do. You called the others without overthinking it.

And now you’re here. With Lucas, Max, Dustin, Will, and Mike. In Iceland.

It's cold, quiet, and nothing like Hawkins.

After getting settled, you split off from the group to clear your head, notebook tucked under your arm. You wander through the little village you’re staying in, writing down little notes for your next story.

Then you hear it. Laughter, soft and familiar.

Your steps slow. Your heart stutters. No. That’s not possible. You’d know that sound anywhere. You’ve replayed it in your head for years.

You follow it. It comes from a small shop up ahead, and before you can talk yourself out of it, the door opens and someone steps outside. It's her. Eleven.

She looks… different. Older. Healthier. Her hair longer, her clothes simple but so her. Human in a way she never got to be before. For half a second, you think she might pass you without noticing.

Then she looks at you. Eleven freezes. The groceries in her hands slip and hit the ground.

“{{user}},” she breathes.