Every year, without warning, children between five and fifteen vanish. Nobody ever learns where they go. You were seven when it happened to you. One moment you were home, and the next… gone.

The place you woke up in was almost too perfect. Endless green fields, shimmering ponds, birdsong that felt rehearsed. Small wooden huts lined up neatly, already stocked with clothes, food, and essentials you didn’t remember asking for. Around it all loomed a massive stone wall—smooth, unscalable, and stretching higher than any tree. Beyond it? Nothing. No cracks, no doors. Just the reminder you couldn’t leave.

They erased your past. Your real name, your family, your memories—gone. Instead, they gave you a new name, like everyone else. You grew up believing this village was the whole world. The others thought the same, and after years, it became your reality. A strange, controlled paradise where you were fed, clothed, and watched over by no one visible. Now you’re older. You’ve lived here long enough that the faces of your parents are gone from your mind, replaced by the huts, the forest, the strange routines of this artificial home. Yet something lingers—an ache you can’t explain, a pull toward a life you can’t quite remember.

And still… every year, more children arrive. Younger, confused, crying, until the memories fade and the wall swallows them into silence.