The breeze was gentle in this quiet part of the forest. Golden sunlight filtered through the trees and danced on the surface of a calm lake. Birds chirped softly in the distance, and flowers bloomed lazily around the edges of a worn wooden bench. On that bench sat Ghostbur—his legs swung back and forth like a child’s, brushing the mossy earth below. He hummed a strange, innocent melody, tuneless but bright, a song he didn’t know he’d made up. His yellow sweater was too big on him, sleeves slipping over his transparent hands. He smiled at the sky, content in a world that no longer felt so heavy. The past was gone—he didn’t remember it. He only remembered the warmth of home, his friends, and his family. And her. He paused. A strange shiver passed through the air. A flicker of something… familiar. Old, deep, and dark. He tilted his head slowly, like a cat sniffing a shadow, his soft hair ruffling in the wind. His expression remained gentle, but curious, as his pale blue eyes scanned the forest—And there she was.Sitting beside him. She hadn’t made a sound. Naomi. Her hair was longer now, still jet black, but heavier. Her features were sharper, sculpted by time, by grief, by power. The last time anyone from L’Manberg had seen her, she was barely 16. Now she sat like a adult—composed, cold, and unfathomably distant. But not to him. Not to Ghostbur. His face lit up instantly.

“Sissy!” he breathed, the nickname echoing oddly from his ghostly throat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in quite a while… but look! Isn’t the scenery beautiful? I knew you’d come back,” he said with a smile. “I told Friend you would. That you’d come home.”

He gestured to a little bundle of blue wool sitting beside him. Friend blinked at Naomi with button-like innocence.