I stop. There’s the hollowed-out tree that Taema and I used to go to when we wanted to get away from everything. Perfectly rendered in the code of this corrupted dream world. Where we went just after we found the tablet. Where we found out the world outside was vaster than we had ever dreamed.

There is a tiny pinprick of light in the middle of the darkness.

“We have to go inside,” I say, my voice small and far away.

Nazarin doesn’t question me. He follows me as I move closer, crouching on my hands and knees and crawling inside. Sure enough, it’s like Alice in Wonderland.

I take Nazarin’s hand and we fall down the rabbit hole together.

*   *   *

Ah. Here’s the nightmare.

The phosphorescent green fog is here, too, but this is a swamp rather than a forest. It is a re-creation of the barrier around the Hearth that no one was meant to cross. It smells of bilge water and sulfur, of decomposing plants and bodies.

In front of us is a boat. We step into it, and it begins to move. Things swim in the deep—creatures with white teeth, scales and long, slithering tails.

“It’s like we’re crossing the river Styx to the underworld,” I mutter.

“As long as there’s not a three-headed dog.” Nazarin is alert, watching for any threat. Unconsciously, I move a bit closer to him.

As the ship takes us through the swamp, large opalescent bubbles shimmer ahead of us, resting on the water. We’re heading straight for one, and there’s no way to steer. Nazarin wraps his arms around me, as if he could protect me if it was dangerous. I wrap my arms around him, just as tight. We slip through the barrier, and it feels greasy against my skin.

We’re in a memory.

Zeal and Verve. Dream worlds and heightened memories.

I’m no longer looking at the scene through my own eyes. Ensi is young, perhaps twelve years old. The memory is from his point of view. Like when we played the recording in Kim’s lounge, we can sense some of his experiences and emotions.

He’s in the Hearth. I recognize the view of the lake from the cabin window. He’s playing with a little girl, and it’s Mana-ma. They’re playing marbles, and Mana-ma’s tongue sticks out of the side of her mouth as she flicks one marble toward another. They hit each other with a click. “See?” she says. “You have to have a plan, to figure out the next move.”

Ensi takes his turn, scanning the marbles. Flick. Click.

“Good,” she says, smiling at him, and Ensi beams back.