The forest air was cool, clinging to the skin with that telltale scent of earth, moss, and quiet. Moonlight filtered between the tall spruce trees, long shadows curling like fingers across the dirt paths. It wasn’t often Naomi left Konariana anymore, especially not without Sapnap or George. But tonight was different. Dream walked a few paces ahead of her, his cloak catching on low branches, snapping them back as they passed. He didn’t look over his shoulder, but he didn’t have to. He could feel her presence—still, deliberate, always just far enough away to avoid being touched, but close enough to catch if she fell. Neither of them spoke. They never really needed to. The forest between nations—uncaptured, unwanted, untouched—was the only neutral ground left on the server. No banners. No checkpoints. No politics. Naomi liked that. Or maybe she hated it. Dream couldn’t tell. She slowed near a familiar grove. The moon hit her face just right, illuminating the sharp line of her jaw and the fall of her ink-black hair. Dream was about to say something—probably something dumb, like how Sapnap had burned another Konariana chef’s apron during a dare—but the sound of rustling leaves cut him off. Footsteps. Fast. Dream reacted instantly, hand on his sword. Naomi didn’t flinch. The shape emerged from the trees like a ghost, draped in wings and green. Philza Minecraft. Dream’s blood turned to frost in his veins. The old man stopped dead in his tracks, like the sight of Naomi had punched all the wind out of his chest.

“…Naomi?”

His voice was soft. Cracked. Half a question, half a prayer. Dream instinctively moved between them. Not blocking. Not threatening. Just…there. Naomi didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared. Philza took a step forward, eyes wide. Haunted. Hopeful.

“Gods..” he whispered again, voice starting to break, “Naomi, is that really you?”