Blue. Endless. Unblinking.

The second thing is the grass beneath my fingers, damp and cool, pressing against my palms like the earth is trying to remind me I'm solid. I'm here. I exist.

But when I try to reach for why—for anything before this moment—there's nothing.

Just a hollow ache where memories should be.

I sit up too fast. The world tilts, spins, settles.

Grass stains on my palms. A breeze that smells like pollen and distant smoke. And my name—at least I know my name.

Y/n.

That's it. That's all I've got.

A boy is crouched a few feet away, blonde hair messy and bright as straw, blue eyes wide with what looks like equal parts surprise and delight. He can't be older than sixteen, maybe seventeen. He's wearing a red and white t-shirt that's seen better days, and he's staring at me like I just crawled out of a storybook.