What If Yuu Didn't Want To Go Back - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

I have something to say about the What If Yuu Didn't Want to Go Back series.

Recently, I have come to realize that I cannot upload one part a day and still post long, quality updates. I need some time to figure out how to get the plot to go where I want it to, among other things.

For that reason, the series will be put on hiatus- but fear not! I will return to it when I know what I'm doing. Also:

I am starting a new series, which will be uploaded while I plan out WiYDWtGB. Part one will be uploaded later today.

I hope I can continue to post content that entertains you all!

This is part 21 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

"Goodnight, Yuu," whispers Grim.

"Goodnight, Grim," I whisper back. Korrak and Mandible are already asleep, and we dare not wake them.

A moment passes. "Grim, do you want to try and find another big stick tomorrow?"

"Hehe. Yes."

And then our eyes close.

It only feels like a moment later that we're up and walking again, back in the Backstage Room for our usual morning routine. The walk there is muscle memory at this point, so we arrive a minute earlier than Epel. Interestingly, Korrak isn't there, even though he and Mandible were out of bed when Grim and I woke.

Meh. I'm too tired to think about that and add it to my mental list of clues in the quest to unravel the mystery that is our human roommate and his 'possum familiar.

More people file in as I brush Grim's fur to the smooth and silky shine that is expected and achieved daily by every furry familiar in Pomefiore. I'm still half-alseep when I squeeze a dash of kitty toothpaste onto Grim's kitty toothbrush, but that doesn't last.

With my own hair brushed and Epel on my left, I think it's going to be a normal day. Still, something feels off. Very off. I'm unsettled, and I don't know why.

Then it hits me. Slowly, like something oozing onto my head, it hits me. If Korrak has pilot parents, then why did he do so well against Floyd?

This is going to keep eating at me until I solve it. Sigh. And I have classes today.

" 'Ats th'matter, Yuu? Yer lookin' pretty worn-out, an' th' day ain't even really started."

"Myeeh. Classes."

Epel looks at us, confused- before laughing. "We ain't got no class t'day, 's a weekend!"

Grim and I both thank whatever forces gave us a day off. Epel, Grim and I hurry through our routine and go to breakfast- eggs on toast.

I still haven't seen Korrak or Mandible today.

Before I can properly register it- or wake up- Grim and I are adventuring through the woods outside our dorm, continuing our quest for a stick.

We carefully dig through the leaves before I step anywhere, exercising all the caution we feel we'll need to ensure the perfect stick does not escape our notice nor break before we may properly obtain it.

The woods are peaceful. Grim has dismounted from my shoulder in favor of trotting along the forest floor, through the yellow-brown that carpets the grass and tree roots.

His ears perk up. He looks suspiciously at nothing, head turned, and then calms, ears lowering. Still, he's clearly on edge.

I've got a feeling about this. It's a little dread, settling in my stomach like tar, but there's also some determination, sitting atop the dread like snow.

The question about Korrak is still eating at me. It's harder to ignore now that the sleep has left my eyes and mind, but I'm setting it aside nonetheless to search for the stick. Still: why would he lie? Did he even? Maybe it's just redacted information he's not comfortable sharing, as opposed to an outright lie. Maybe his parents taught him self-defense.

But... that didn't look like professional self-defense. It looked like something learned on the streets- but how would I know? I'm new to this world, maybe that's just what their jujustu looks like.

What's that? It sounds like... chittering. I look at Grim. He's facing roughly north, at the source, ears pointed forward. He makes eye contact with me. The message is clear: I'm not just dreaming. There's something- or someone- out there.

Hold on. More chittering? It sounds... different, somehow. A different voice? Wait. That sounds a lot like Mandible. And the other voice is talking now, could that be...Korrak?

What language could that be? Not French, that's for sure... maybe something else?

Wait. I've heard people talking about an "Animal Linguistics" class. If animals have their own language... and Mandible is an opossum...

Grim and I make eye contact again. He's connected the dots, too. Another question: why is Korrak speaking opossum? I've heard other people talking to their familiars during meals and in the Backstage Room, but they don't speak the animal language- they speak their human language, and the familiar chirps, barks, chitters, or otherwise make animal sounds back. I often can't understand either side; a lot of Pomefiore people speak Dutch or Spanish or something.

This mystery just keeps expanding. My mental pinboard has even more yarn on it now, and no extra answers.

The chittering has stopped. Maybe that wasn't Mandible and Korrak? Meh. We have a stick to find!

The woods are pretty and peaceful. Leaves crunch underfoot and underpaw, respectively, and rocks must be carefully avoided- lest I fall over. Grim is a quadruped, so he doesn't have that risk.

Ow! Tree roots. I also have to watch out for tree roots. Wish I remembered that before I fell flat on my face, but it's a little late for that.

"Are you okay?" I know that voice. That's Mandible.

"I'm fine," I start, lifting myself from the leafy forest floor. But, before I ask about what was overheard, I catch myself. They probably wouldn't react well if I asked.

Wait... this is a new area of the forest. I'm standing on the edge of a clearing, set in an indent in the ground, like a reverse hill. The inside of the bowl-like shape is all leaves, with some decent-sized boulders around the edges. One, two... Thirteen boulders, arranged in a circle. Some have sharp edges, others appear entirely smooth. All are grey, but various shades- some are far darker than others. A few even look to have stripes, like the igneous rock I learned about in middle school science class. It's very pretty.

There's an indent in the leaves- a path where someone walked. This must be where Korrak was earlier.

"What are you two doing out in the woods?"

Before I can respond to Mandible's question, Grim jumps in for me. "We're gonna get a big stick to make into a toy!

"Oh, that sounds fun! I think I saw one over here!" Mandible hops down from Korrak's shoulder and trots down the steep slope, into the clearing. I follow, take one step down, trip again, and fall- a hand wraps around my right wrist, and I realize I'm pulling Korrak down with me. He's strong, but gravity and momentum are stronger.

I hit the ground first. My arm breaks my falk for most of my body, but my hips don't get that, and throb with dull pain. I don't feel blood. Then, Korrak hits the leaf litter- and exclaims something when he does. It's not English, but the chittering we heard before. He sounds indistinguishable from an actual opossum.

Oops. I'm staring. And he's noticed, too. Time to try and pass it off as an "I was worried" thing.

"Myeeh! Are you two okay? Yuu? Yuu!"

Well, Grim's beat me to it. And, oddly enough, Mandible is chittering at Korrak. I think he's asking if we're alright.

I stand, stretch, and offer Korrak my hand. He takes it, and I lift him. "You good?"

"S-sure am. Thanks." He pauses. "Are you?"

I nod. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Yuu! Do you need ice?! I can summon some!"

"Don't, Grim."

Korrak is looking at me now. "You're pretty fluent in Cat."

I look at him, right into his smokey grey eyes. "What?"

"You're p-pretty fluent in Cat. I'm impressed."

"What do you mean by that? How can I be fluent in a species?" Only after the words leave my mouth do I remember Animal Linguistics is a class.

Korrak bursts out laughing. "Animals have languages. You seem p-pretty fluent in Cat, especially considering it's not y-your native language. That's what you and Grim are speaking. What's h-h-he saying, anyway?"

"He's asking if I need ice and offering to summon some."

Korrak laughs. "G-good ol' Grim."

"By the way, what did you mean by 'not my native language'?"

He pauses, nervous. "W-well, I'm assuming your native language isn't Cat. You seem f-fluent in it, th-though."

"I'm assuming the chittering is you and Mandible speaking Opossum, then."

Korrak nods. "Y-yeah. It's my, um.. Nevermind."

He whispers the last part, just a faint draft of breath, but my ears catch it anyway. Grim's do, too. This time, I take notice of how his words sound- he's speaking Cat.

"Your what?"

"Your what?" I echo his words, in English this time.

"N-nothing." That's a sound he doesn't usually stutter. He's nervous.

I give him a look. He doesn't cave, not yet.

"Found it!"

"Myeeh, that's too thin... maybe. Hey, Yuu, over here!"

I walk over to Grim and Mandible to look at the stick. It's wildly thin, and is shaped like a paperclip someone tried and failed to straighten out. It's not going to work.

"Yeah, too thin. Thanks for trying, Mandible." I spare a glance at Korrak. He's still standing there, nervous. I'm a little scared to leave him alone. Not completely alone, obviously- he'll still have his familiar- but an opossum can only do so much, and... sigh.

"Come on, hench-human. I wanna see Sam's. I heard there's a tuna discount!"

Of course, he's thinking of tuna. His favorite food. He's never told me, but, in the other world, my Grim loved tuna beyond any other food. He loves it here, too.

Maybe we'll run into Rook there; we can ask him for help if we do. Hey, that's right- Rook is probably here somewhere, supervising. Korrak will be okay.

I laugh. "Alright, Grim, let's go and look."

Taking one last glance at the nervous, purple-haired boy and the furry marsupial, we leave the little bowl clearing behind us, questions put aside in our heads.

"What if Yuu didn't want to go back" is now officially off hiatus!

Thank you for waiting!

This is part 22 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

Sam's shop. I've never been there before, but it's about time to change that, I'd say. We need the distraction. Grim is enjoying it fully, probably thinking about the tuna he's sure to get.

And here we are! Admittedly, I'm not sure if we can afford anything that's not on sale, but it's worth a shot, right?

The shelves are stocked high, but not too high- many students are a bit short, so the items are only about two and a half meters off the ground at the highest. Despite that, there are stools along the ends of the rows, magically attached to their paths along the edges of the isles. I don't need them.

"Okay, Grim, can you smell the tuna or anything? I don't know where to look."

"No need, dear customers! I'll show you, just follow me."

Grim and I follow the man in the patchwork top hat through the expanse of items and prices, recognizing him as Sam, the owner. As he leads us, an odd feeling settles itself into my being. What is it? Oh, that's it- though the shelves are short, the store is vast, stretching onward like a neverending maze. Following Sam through all this feels a lot like I'm walking through a limnal space, guided by a supernatural entity of unknown origin.

"Here we are!" In front of us, Sam is motioning to a shelf with stout cans of tuna stacked one atop another. Sure enough, the price tag on the edge of the suspiciously strong plastic reads "SALE" and is followed by a slashed-out price displayed above a price that's worth half the original, written in larger font. I don't need to look to know Grim's reaction.

"Thank you!" I wave to Sam, grab some tuna, and turn back. He's gone by then, so I just move Grim to my other shoulder and walk to the counter. Sam is waiting there, smiling as usual, and sends us off with an enthusiastic "Thank you!" When we pay and leave.

How unusual. Oh, well. I'll let Grim have a can of this now, and the rest can be saved. Now, where's a trash can?..oh, over there!

...huh. There's a spot in the trash bags over here that's cleared out, about the size of a first-year student. Why? I can't see any reason someone would clear this out. Other than boredom, but this looks like it's been here for a while now. How odd. Meh.

I trash the lid and walk away. We have better things to do. Say, for example, hiding pencil erasers in Ace's bag until he notices and says something, or trying to figure out what the hell is up with Korrak.

"Myeeh, do you hear that?" I stop walking, merely two steps from the indent, and attempt to fine-tune my ears. When I hold my breath, I hear it. Music.

I'm a sin, but I'm half of the hourglass, glass, glass

I don't recognize the song, but I hear it. There is definitely some kind of music playing. But from where? A quick glance at Grim's ears tell me it's toward the pile of trash.

I turn around, slowly, silently, and look a little closer. The music is decently loud now, but I can't see its source.

"Hold my can." I take the half-eaten can of tuna from Grim with one hand and lower the other to allow him to jump down. He ignores the platform entirely and jumps down without my help, landing on concrete and quickly deciding he'd rather move the bags with magic than with his paws or face. The one right in front of him glows somewhat, rises, and reveals a pair of beaten-up headphones plugged into a strange, once-white rectangle.

Grim looks at me. I reach in with my free hand, grab the headphones, and Grim releases the trash bag the instant nothing is under it anymore in favor of hopping onto my arm. When I'm fully upright again, I pass Grim his tuna.

"Myeeh, thanks." He returns to eating. I try and examine the device. It resembles a rectangle when viewed from the front or back, but looking at the top gives it a more almond shape- if almonds were pointed at two ends and not rounded at one. It's very thin, too, much thinner than an almond.

The music still plays. I can't identify the song, but this is probably on a playlist, so I wait for the song to end. It loops.

Dah dah dah dah, da-dah dah dah, dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah

The music kicks up. I still don't recognize the song. The headphones don't fit over my head, but, in my endeavors to put them on, I see him, on the edge of my vision. Barely visible.

Korrak. I don't see Rook. Why is he here?

Ok, Yuu, hold on. You don't want to sound suspicious. That's your roommate and friend. He doesn't know I've seen him yet. So...

I turn to face him and ask, "Hey, are these yours?" He startles. Okay, maybe that wasn't the right move. Still, he attempts to reply- a series of quiet chitters and chirps I can't understand, yet still too loud to miss for my now cat-level hearing, even over the wind and faint music.

"Yeah," Mandible nods, presumably translating for Korrak, "those are ours. Thanks for finding them." I can't be sure as to why Korrak stutters and Mandible doesn't.

"Well, here you go. Your song is still playing." Indeed it is, the singer's voice calling out to be remembered for hundreds of years. Korrak, upon seeing my outstretched hand, visibly relaxes and reaches out to take it.

I've seen that reaction before, on videos, in photos, and in the mirror- not the magic one- when I realized something I saw as precious hadn't been stolen or lost, but was being returned to me.

I saw it in Grim's eyes, reflected from my own when I saw him before the entrance ceremony.

These must be important to them. They've probably had them for years and years, a persistent source of comfort through tough and easy times alike.

Grim was like that for me.

"Thanks," speaks Mandible. It takes me a moment to register his words as his, momentary confusion clouding my judgment of Korrak's voice vs. Mandible's jaws moving. The confusion clears with a single word rushing into my mind: ventriloquism.

Another question rises from the ashes of my puzzlement, burning like a Phoenix: why doesn't Mandible stutter?

Just as quickly, the question abandons me, and nothing more comes of the interaction- rather, a new one begins at the moment's end, with Rook walking up and playing a hand on Korrak's unoccupied shoulder. Korrak briefly panics, a flash of intense fear taking root in his eyes, but that fear is pulled up when he realizes whose wrist the black-gloved hand is attached to.

"Monseurs," Rook begins, nodding at me and Grim as well as Korrak and Mandible, "Come with me. You are going to brew potions in class soon, and I have been instructed to ensure that you all know the basics and how to apply them."

I approach when Rook motions with his free- well, not really, he's holding his bow with that one- hand for me and Grim to follow his lead. A short-feeling walk later, we're back at Pomefiore's main building, through the lounge, down a flight of stairs, and standing in a dark, basementy room that reminds me of medieval castles- if they were cleaned and the atmosphere of a damp, uneven-floored chamber were intentionally crafted. Rook leads us over to a cauldron, and I see the nearby bench against the wall. Epel is sitting there, head slumped a little to his right like he's drowsy, but not yet asleep.

Rook snaps his fingers. Epel jolts upright, his head turning rapidly from side to side until he spots us and hurries from his seat to a spot beside the cauldron. He's in his labwear, and, with a flick of his magic pen, so is Rook. Korrak follows suit, swapping his neatly-buttoned jacket, dress shirt, and Pomefiore-purple vest for a dull white lab coat and a pair of the goggles every Pomefiore student has. Mandible chitters something I don't know at him, and, a moment later, me and Grim are the only ones not in labwear- a fact soon made false. Clearly, my practice is paying off.

Rook waves his magic pen again, filling the cauldron with a shimmering liquid I initially fail to recognize as water in the opalescent lighting of the room. Epel looks at us all, moving his goggles down his face to sit over his eyes once Grim taps the clear frame of the cat-adjacent familiar's protective eyewear.

"Now, then," the vice housewarden speaks up, his voice steadfast, "Every Pomefiore student worth their salt needs a flawless pharmalogical grounding." He briefly moves away to fetch a cart with three levels, the upper two of which are covered in a thick, single layer of small glass vials with corks. The top jars look to contain herbs, judging by the faded green and slightly-wilted brown reflected and refracted by the smooth, light-bending surface of their containers. The ones on the middle level, however, appear to contain a collective rainbow of various spices, rocks, furs, and everything else Crewel hasn't let us touch yet, with the exception of equipment.

I squint at the sudden, unmistakable scent of mint wafting off the cart, in spite of the fact that it's on Rook's right and I'm on his left. Grim moves to cover his nose with his paws, but stops when he remembers he's wearing lab gloves and that might not be a bright idea. Looking over, Mandible's nose is twitching like mad- he and Korrak must be getting the brunt of it.

In asingle half-second, I realize Rook is holding his breath, his chest steady instead of slowly moving with his lungs, and then he pushes the cork down onto a vial I hadn't noticed him reaching for, closing it. The aggressive scent of mint wanes and blows away. Rook exhales and inhales, clearly relived. He's a hunter; his sense of smell is sharp. Too-strong oders must be overwhelming to him- they are to me.

A memory surfaces in my mind- falling asleep in a bed of mint, wild mint, dug up and moved to one spot, with Grim in my arms, and then it fades, vanishing like clear gel tossed into the sea. Another event rises into the forefront of my attention, more solid and vivid than the last. The mix of disappointment and sorrow that rose then comes with it, soon yet gradualy overtaken by the sense of apathy that settled into my being back then. That numbness stuck around for years until fate dragged me into this school to reunite with Grim and feel again.

Why did that particular memory surface? What is it that ties then to now, only now? Laying in a bed of mint- oh! My nose is sharper now, much sharper. Back then, I could lie in a bed of it and rest well, but now a meter and a half away is too close.

My familiar stands on all fours and stretches straight up, claws digging ever-so-slightly into the surface of my skin and coat. I snap back to the present. That's right, I'm busy. Busy doing what? Oh, that's right, Rook's helping with upcoming potionology work.

"Now, then..." Rook doesn't talk too much, evidently favoring the act of guiding us by our hands and arms, only commenting when the herbs become involved. Contrawise, he hums near-constantly, one of the melodies bringing the earlier encounter with Korrak and Mandible to my immediate attention. It's the same song.

Rook was there. Good. That means Korrak had some other company. I was a little worried, but now that I know Rook was there to keep an eye on them, some tension I was previously unaware of dissapates like smoke set free from a jar and into the cool evening breeze.

Soon, though, we are back upstairs, in the Backstage Room, discussing as we usually do. I hear someone say the time and our roommates leave me to complete my last two steps with ease, choosing to brush Grim until we're both off to bed. Korrak is asleep by the time we get there, and, soon, Grim curls up in his cat bed as I curl up in my human bed, and then we both close our eyes for the night. My dreams are a single, simple phrase:

"Memory Lane"

This is part 23 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

I have several questions.

1. Why am I here?

2. Where is "here?"

3. When did I wake up?

5. What time is it?

6. How did I get here?

7. Who are they?

There are several other questions, of course, but these are the ones that press most persistently at my mind. Some are easy enough to answer- Grim's my familiar, of course he's here- while others- maybe there aren't any crickets because of the time? They should be active if it's still night- aren't so obvious.

Ah, well. The lane in front of me is long, as is the portion behind me I've absentmindedly walked prior to realizing I'm not somewhere I already know. The atmosphere here doesn't feel aggressive, hostile, or even unwelcoming. It just feels... calm. Strangely, unfamiliarly calm, like I've been here all my life without realizing it. Like a freshwater fish moved to a cleaner, kinder lake.

On my left and right are smoke-lined "screens" with short videos playing, repeating from what I assume to be the start after a second or two of playing. Each "screen" is about my height, hovering slightly above the ground beside the path, but I soon realize I'm taller. The bottom of the screens aligns with my ankles, not my feet, but the tops are still about level with my scalp. About a meter and a half from the side of the walkway is a row of trees with a deep brownish-black I've never seen in nature, much less alongside the pale blue, almond-shaped leaves. In form, some of the trees resemble simple oak, while others split at the base like birch. The variety is undeniable regardless of trunks: some droop like weeping willows; some branch straight up; some don't bother with limbs and just grow their leaves directly off of their bark. The nonpath ground that doesn't have a tree on it is covered in what looks to be clover, flowerless and evidently lacking in the four-leafed variety, favoring five-leafedness as some noticeable portion of the apparent population.

The path itself is a shifting shade of grey, then purple, then blue, and then I hold my head still and stare. Above me is a strange, dark sky, the same shade as right before a thunderstorm, when dark clouds coat the sky and hide the sun. In spite of the color, not one cloud is visible- just a series of small, silvery streaks, some pale blue and most are a very light, shiny grey that appears white against the dark sky. The streaks are scattered like faraway stars; some even form a bizarre sort of image, a constellation of abstract made to resemble a hundred shapes at once. If I look straight up, they resemble a fox, but if I turn a little to my left and peer slightly lower than before, It's an upside-down stag.

What a weird, wonderful world.

In my arms, Grim starts to stir, yawning as he does when he's sleepy. I smile. How cute. His eyes slowly blink open, and he hops out of my arms to stretch like normal, padding over to sit beside me once he's done.

I wait. Logically, he's going to ask where we are soon- but that "soon" never comes. He just sits there, trident tail silently swishing behind him, until he speaks:

"Where're we gonna go?" He says it so casually; I'd think he knows this place if I didn't know any better.

...Do I?

Maybe he knows. Perhaps this is his signature spell. Perhaps it is not. How should I know? All I've been given are strange, vague clues, many of which would seem so out-of-place anywhere else I'd absolutely remember if I've seen them before.

Grim is in front of me now, his paws moving the loose, sandlike material of the path into a tiny trail, documenting his steps. His eyes are staring right at my face, curious and patient. Heh. Never thought I'd call him that, but here we are. Oh, I should ask him.

"Grim, do you know where we are?"

"Sorta," he starts. "I've been here before." He pauses and looks around for a moment before he continues, "Well, here-ish. The path and trees were a different color, and the screen things weren't floating or smokey. The videos were of other things, too, and there were way more sky streak things. Oh, and the sky was darker."

I look around and focus my attention on one of the videos floating on my right. It's of a young child, about eleven if I had to guess, celebrating something with a group of others who appear to be about his age. Just before the loop restarts, a presumably adult figure who's mostly out of sight starts handing out popsicles, starting with the boy in the center of the screen. The kid doesn't ring any bells, but I recognize him regardless- not because he's familiar, but because his familiar is familiar.

Atop the child's head is a very distinct oppossum. The boy must be Korrak. Is this a memory or a dream? I can't be sure.

I reach out to touch it, and all of a sudden I'm in that park, Grim by my side, as a small Korrak kicks a black-and-white soccer ball into a goal made from what I think is PVC piping. The kids cheer, but the other team, a pair of acne-faced young teens, tries to rush the lady keeping score, claiming "offsides." The lady laughs them off, presumably having seen the goal and the fact that the ball didn't touch any of the sides, and tells them to act their age instead of whining.

A chittering Mandible runs to join the cheering children as they toss Korrak into the air- I didn't know they could do that, but I guess little kids are stronger in groups of fifteen- and an adult hands out the "trophies," one for each winner. Korrak clearly isn't the only one with a familiar, as the instant another grown-up reaches to pass Mandible an ice cube with some grapes frozen inside, a small, many-legged clump of colorful fur bolts to her, barking and cooing and chittering and meowing that doesn't seem to be speech so much as just shouting. As the treats are handed out, I see a border collie, a raccon, a cat, and a pigeon quiet down and rest beside their respective winners to rest and eat. The border collie, still not fully grown, jumps onto the lap of a boy with brown hair that reminds me of tree bark, while the raccon runs to a young girl I don't clock as "not a boy" until she undoes her ponytail. The cat, a mostly white shorthair with black paws, an equally dark head, and a tail to match sits on the back of a very pale boy with hair that makes his skin look worse as he lies on his stomach to eat, and the pigeon flies directly into a nearby oak tree, where a small, dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks and wide eyes climbs to meet it.

Eventually, small Korrak finishes his reward, and, tongue stained purple, announces that his mom told him to be back before dark, and leaves, Mandible on his shoulder. The sunset has dyed the sky a bright, beautiful orangey-red, and then I am back in on the path, Grim beside me all the same. The portion of the memory is still looping like is was before on the smoke-lined screen, as though nothing changed. Nothing did. How odd.

Wait, I said something. There was a phrase- "memoir lake," was that it? No, it couldn't be. I don't see a lake.

"Weird," begins Grim. "I've never tried to go through one of those before. Did you see how the grass kinda doubled and split when we touched it? Like, some of it was unaffected, but some was kinda see-through and didn't just phase through my paws."

"I wasn't paying attention to the grass..."

Grim shrugs with his little kitty shoulders. "Fair enough. I barely did." He pauses, paws shifting nervously on the sandlike path. "I used to just...be somewhere a lot like this sometimes. I'd start at the end of the path, and there'd be a light of some kind, and I'd touch it like you did with that memory thing, and..."

I remember. I never went anywhere particular to find Grim, he'd kind of just... show up. I would fall asleep in the woods, as one does when they aren't attending a prestigious magic college, and wake with my familiar in my arms or curled against my stomach. I never questioned it; he'd been appearing like that for years. It'd been part of my "normal" since I was a little kid, and I thought nothing of it, the way rich kids think nothing of their money until they learn their classmates live without it.

I smile. My magic was always there, I suppose, I just couldn't use it until I was there, too.

My magic. My magic. My magic. Is that really what this is?

Grim finally asks me what I've been asking myself: "Is this your signature spell?"

It's mine or his, right? Grim's been seeing this kind of magic for years, and it connected to me then, so it has to be one of ours, right?

I stop and look left. Another memory, with an even younger Korrak. He looks to be hiding behind a small pile of black plastic trash bags, presumably playing hide-and-seek. An adult, a presumably a police officer, steps into the frame, head and chest still out-of-sight. He steps loudly around, leaving a young Korrak to breathe again with relief. The memory loops. I watch, still and silent, as a Korrak who can't be any older than six dashes into an alleyway, digs 'neath the garbage bags, and stashes himself away, holding his breath.

I break away when the cop leaves again. What the hell? That didn't look like a game.

Before I can stop it, my hand reaches out and presses against the screen. For a moment, it feels as though the world has stopped, and then I'm standing on sidewalk as a slight breeze ruffles my hair. Small Korrak bolts through my legs like they aren't there and forces his body against its momentum to make a sharp left into an alleyway. The cop runs up, noticeably slower than the five-or-so-year-old, and stops affront the escape route. He walks forward, slowly, boots thumping on the concrete, and I follow.

The police's face is blurry and obscured. This is a memory, and Korrak didn't get a good look at him, so that's not too surprising, but when I fall onto the trash bags I realize Grim was right- each bag duplicates into two, one of which phases through me, and the other of which doesn't.

The cop leaves, Korrak exhales, and I watch as he cries. Cries little child tears, curling into a ball of scared with Mandible clutched in his arms. The trash bags must be some kind of safe haven to him. Is that why his headphones were where they were when we found them?

A small, quiet whine tries and fails to echo in the dark outdoor halls. Mandible chitters. I don't know what he's saying.

The memory ends. I'm back on the path. What is there to do now but learn more?

I step twelve paces forward. All of the screens' loops would suggest Korrak has never had a house. Further back, more of the same. Farther and farther into his past I glance, and there is not a single instance of Korrak being raised by humans. I don't see a single plane.

The "pilot parents" lie has been very disproven. He grew up homeless? That explains so much! The fighting must have been a necessity out there, and the aforementioned lie was a practiced cover for why everything he owns fits in a single bag. He was probably raised by opossums, too, and learning a human language was probably a challenge.

Poor Korrak. He must have had a difficult life.

I venture into the nearer past. Teen and preteen Korrak does not appear to have been taken in. He has, however, learned to read, which seems to have lead to an interest in science. He doesn't get to indulge that.

Finally, I see the black carriage approach. He's going to Night Raven. Screens further ahead show the entrance ceremony, our dorm room, the Backstage Room, us. Rook taking him to Vil's room. The leaders of Pomefiore taking him and Mandible under their wings as they did Grim and I.

Vil brushing Korrak's hair while Rook smooths Mandible's fur with a brush. Getting a phone for the first time in sixteen years, from our housewarden himself. Clutching Mandible in his arms while trying to curl in on himself, just like he did all those years ago, but now Rook is there, too, hugging him- wait, that's the clearing we saw him in!

Much of this is giving me dejá vù. Rook and Vil treat Korrak and Mandible the way they treat me and Grim: like birds encouraging their fledgling chicks to spread their wings and fly. How come I didn't know of this sooner? As glances of the past would suggest, mom and dad- what the hell, they aren't my legal parents or guardians, I'm getting ahead of all this- went out of their ways to give us privacy. How nice.

I jog to where I started. A "fire" burns there, emitting smoke but no flame. I could walk through if I wanted.

"Myeeh, we need to leave! I don't wanna be late," shouts Grim, trident tail straight up. He's right, we need to go! But how do I...

Two words come to mind: a name. My signature spell's name.

"Memory Lane," I say, and I'm back in my bed.

This is part 24 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

We're late. Shit. Only by seven minutes, but there's a lot of gossip in the Backstage Room during seven minutes. Damn!

Luckily, we still have plenty of time for our skincare routines. Grim gets brushed a little faster than usual, but we're good. "Breakfast can be eaten on the way to class," I mutter to myself as I speedwalk down the hall.

"Y'ain't gawt classes t'day! Jeez, yeh jus'a lil' too awn edge 'bout yeh grades, ain't'cha? Cawlm yerself, 's awll awrigh'," says Epel, voice drawling along as it does to add a w into some words that wouldn't normally contain them this far north. I laugh along with him. We were really in such a hurry, and for what? Club doesn't start for a long while today.

In walks Korrak. Mandible is on his shoulder, as usual, and they look... as fatigued as always. Do they know? I can't tell. Maybe their evident exhaustion is from normal causes, whatever those are.

Well, I'm not going to risk it. Those two have never looked fully rested as long as I've known them, and using my signature spell last night showed me that's not a recent development. Even on the day of the entrance ceremony, they looked like there had been about two hours of deep, undisturbed, uninterrupted sleep between the two of them.

...Actually, they look way better now than they did then. I suppose Rook and Vil's care has really had an impact. Good. They deserve it.

Is the same true for me? Did I look like some kind of abomination when I walked in this world for the first time? Thinking back to day one, absolutely. Grim and I actually got taken into the Backstage Room first, and our housewarden spent over an hour and a half on detangling my hair alone- after he spent another thirty minutes on cutting it without breaking the scissors. Maybe I overestimated the difference between me and the boy with the dark blue opossum.

Ok, definitely. I definitely overestimated the difference between Korrak and I. Then again, we're from entirely different worlds, so is that a crime? I hope not.

Oh, well. Korrak isn't looking at me or Grim like anything's different, so we're probably fine. Probably. There's definitely an ethics factor, but I'm choosing to ignore that. For now.

Speaking of problems I'm aware of but choosing to pretend I'm not because the stress of that issue is pressing and I never learned to properly cope with anxiety in any way but ignoring it until I can't and it breaks me, I've heard of a spring and winter break when students go home. What do I do then?

Perhaps my impending doom shows on my face, but It doesn't matter if so because nobody appears to have noticed, and I don't see Rook. That doesn't mean he doesn't see me, though. Good ol' Rook.

He'll find me later. There's a good chance Grim and I will be taken to Vil's room to discuss that, and perhaps my signature spell. I need to get better at using that. There, that's something to do today.

I don't know when I sat down, nor do I know when Korrak and Epel started talking about combat, but it's oddly comforting to hear someone talking about fighting whilst drawing many of their 'a's into 'aw's. All becomes awl, on becomes awn, and so forth.

Did I have these moments before? Of peace, of contentment, of calm? Of simply sitting on a couch and listening to friends speak of violence in familiar voices and tones? No, I didn't, not even that last part. It's nice to know things can improve with as little as... well, not little. Still, it's nice to know things can improve.

I need to start with learning how to trigger Memory Lane. I think it was accidental last night, but I can't recall enough about before to even guess how I set it off then. Perhaps I have to be asleep? Does Grim has to be asleep? How close do I have to be to the person whose memories I'd like to rummage through, physically? Does physical space even matter? How well do I have to know them? Do I have to know them? Can I swap between targets without leaving the spell's area, or do I have to cast it twice for that to happen? Where does my physical body go? Can I take other people there?

I'm getting ahead of myself. First things first: how to start using Memory Lane. No, wait, first is breakfast. I'm almost done with that, so I'll head into the woods to train. I'll probably have to register that with Vil and maybe the headmage, but that can wait. I'd like to learn more about this spell before I tell.

"You look like you've got a plan," murrs Grim. "What're we doing today?"

"We're figuring out that spell," I maow back. Grim grins, sharp little teeth slightly dirty with minuscule chunks of salmon and toast.

"Y'all ain't all that subtle when yer up ter somethin'," teases Epel with a roll of his eyes before he gets up to stretch. "Best I git goin'," he starts again, smirking. "Cain't masta spelldrive without practice, after awll."

With that, Epel is gone, and Mandible turns to chitter at Korrak about something- I don't know what; I don't speak opossum- who then nods, scarfs down the rest of his food, and makes a break for it. He is stopped by Rook, who probably wasn't there a moment ago if my eyes are telling the truth.

"No running in the lounge," he chides gently. "Now, then, follow me!" I assume that has to do with club activities and think nothing of it. We ought to be going, too- daylight only lasts so long.

The forest is quite pretty again, leaves crunching beneath my feet as I step through the rug of orange, red, yellow, and brown that only parts for trees, their roots, and large rocks. The air here is crisp and fresh, good for clearing your head. I'll probably need that to pull this off, but I'm not sure. Can't hurt, at least.

I inhale, holding the air in my lungs and picturing... someone. The breath escapes me. Who should I go for? Myself, perhaps? Grim? Korrak again? Myself, I'll try myself first. Worth a shot, at the very least.

I try again, holding my breath in my lungs with an image of me, as reflected in the Backstage Room's wall-length mirror. My eyes close. My breath exits me in a quiet whisper: "Memory Lane."

I open my eyes to a Grim-grey path beneath my feet and a slightly blueish sky. Not blue-grey, but blue-brown, like the sky was shifting from a brunette brown to an overhead midnight expanse and I walked in on it midway through. The "stars" are small, black dots and streaks that have scattered themselves across the expanse, more numerous than in Korrak's and somewhat grouped into rows that make me think of a river spreading itself over the landscape it cuts through, as if I walked in on them, too.

The trees are willows, not the weeping kind- at least, not until I look close enough to see their branches are held up by vines with stems that match the path and leaves that match the flames in Grim's ears. The trees themselves are the dark, colorless color of my familiar's trident tail, and their leaves vary in color like confetti- some are the signature Pomefiore purple, some are the same blue as the leaves on the vines, some are a different shade of violet I've seen in Vil's eyes, and some are the green of ferns, moss, and Rook's irises. These willows do weep, but the vines prevent that. Interesting.

I wonder what that says about me.

In front of the comforted willows are more memory screens, though mine appear less like floating screens and more like... what's the word? Like those big, fancy graves with something built from smooth marble atop them, honoring the dead by creating something beautiful in their name. Crypt? No, those are underground. Tomb? Maybe.

Mausoleum, that's it. Though, notably, only the memory portal things a little ways away have them- these are nestled in the willows themselves, once low-hanging branches held away from the screen by the vines and slightly obscuring my view of the past anyway. The farther and further I look, the more little white roofs I see.

"Funny," starts Grim, "I don't remember all this. I mean, the sky's bluer than before, the leaves on the trees are more colors, and the fancy buildings are new, too." He dips his head down, eyes facing the ground near my feet. "Then again, it's been years, and my memory isn't all that great. I don't remember my family, just being cold, that striped ribbon, this place, and you." He curls into himself, soft stomach hidden from my sight, and I cannot help but forget for a mere moment that I am holding a catlike unknown as opposed to a newborn human in my arms. The thought soon evaporates like a drop of water on the surface of the sun, though my familiar's pose remains fetal.

"That's okay, Grim," I reassure, hugging him closer to my chest. "We have each other." I do not tell him the whispers of my childhood are blurry and mysterious like fog over the sea. I do not tell him he is all I clearly recall. I do not tell him I've forgotten the face of my reflection so much I thought I was face blind until I realized I only knew what I looked like when I saw myself. He does not need to know.

Nobody does. Not Mandible, not Korrak, not Epel or Rook or Vil or anyone but me. Those teachers are irrelevant now; this new world has new rules that they can't teach me. Those kids were never my friends; they just let me sit with them and tried to talk to me. Those parents aren't my parents anymore; I have new ones.

Methinks I need a distraction. My remedy is to walk a few meters to the nearest one, adjusting Grim in my arms as I do so, and touching the shiny white with my newly free hand. My familiar uncurls and turns his head to watch my fingertips glide accross the pristine, exact surface. Not one bump, dent, or crack.

The memory itself is of searching the woods for a stick to turn into a toy for Grim- it's clear and crisp despite the fact that I haven't touched it and don't intend to. Behind me, the next memory is of learning I had magic. It's just as vivid as the one before it.

Further down the path, though, memory mausoleums are fewer and farther between. It's nowhere near as packed along the sides as Korrak's- a testament to my poor memory, I suppose- or, perhaps it testifies for his being above average. Maybe even both.

I guess that's just my life- forgotten until recently.

Actually, if I look, there are a few. These ones are blurry, concerningly so, and some part of me says they need to be wiped down like soapy windows in a car wash, as though that would somehow improve the quality.

The farther back I go into the faded scraps of my own forgotten past, the fewer and farther between the memories get, and the ones we do find are notably worse than the last, though not by much. It adds up, though. After a while, they look less like life viewed through a dirty lens and more like splotches of color that were filmed through fog.

Then, I see it. This marblelike structure is huge; I'd have to stand on my own shoulders to see the top. What event could this possibly be?

I look. It's crisp like the most recent ones, with clear differences between even a grey, trident-tailed cat and an asphalt road.

Oh.

Oh.

It's... Grim's death.

...

Yeah, that... that lines up. When did I get on the ground? Oh, I've fallen. Grim is- alive. He's alive, and I'm not losing him. Not again.

It'd be comforting if I could tell myself that wasn't real, but it is. That happened, and it won't again. Not on my watch. I won't let it, no matter what.

"H-hey," starts my frantic familiar. "Yuu... um, look! Over there! I think there might be something under the trees! Let's go and look, okay?"

That's right. That's right. More to see. More to remember. Farther and further back into my faded past.

I stand and look. He's right; the branches are unusually thick here. And, right at the bottom, a rectangle cuts off, like a memory has been hidden by the trees and was revealed by the vines pulling them up.

Gently, slowly, I brush some branches aside. Harshly, suddenly, I am standing in a very nostalgic yard.

Grass. Clover. A mossy wooden fence that my startled mind remembers was willowwood, once upon a time. Grim was right. This is a memory. Speaking of Grim, there he is. In my arms. My eight-year-old, grey-clad arms. I recognize that hoodie- the grey of Grim's fur. It was my favorite as a kid.

Another child is walking down the sidewalk. Small me sees him- blond hair, forgotten eyes- and does not call. He sees small me right back, through the many large holes in the picket fence, and then he stops, his feet in dark cyan shoes I don't remember the style of. His mouth opens.

"Hey! Yuu!" I freeze. It feels almost as though he's calling out to me- not small me, but current me. That shouldn't be possible, and then small me shouts back.

"What?" My old, echoing voice calls back. The boy- Christopher- smiles like he's just been given a pack of gummy bears.

That's right. Christopher. His name was Christopher, and his favorite food was gummy bears. He sat with me at lunch.

"Are you gonna come over to my house this weekend?"

Small me lights up. "Sure!"

"Okay," Christopher shouts back, "see you tomorrow!"

"Bye!" Small me turns back to Grim. I get a good look at him then, and he is visibly younger than the Grim of today. His trident tail, like the rest of him, is smaller, and the blue flames in his ears look more like embers than they do fire, as though they once roared and have been slowly softened by the neverending sands of time.

"Mreew," sqeals the exited bundle of fur.

Small me giggles, ecstatic and still learning cat. When did I master that language?

The door on the house behind me opens, faded paint flaking off in thin shards of what was once green. Young me turns to the obnoxious squeaking, and thoughts drop into my mind like rain into a bucket: That door was greener. Why is it so white now?

The paintless parts of the door are pale brown.

The memory cuts to the following day. Christopher's mother is cutting my hair, and, from where today's me is standing, it oddly resembles Vil doing the same. She's fussing over how it should t be this matted, and how this isn't healthy, and how she's going to call CPS. I can't even remember what that stands for. Did I ever know?

More thoughts flow through me: Their door is so quiet; mine is so loud. Their house is warm like the park is in summer. What color is this? It's like the walls of the doctor's office. Or snow.

I smile to myself. My elementary school was decently fancy when I was a kid, even though Night Raven has since blown it out of the water. Many of the kids who attended came from rich families, and my friends were no exception.

The memory ends, and I'm standing on the road again. It feels like something was cut out, like there was more to it that was lost to time. I guess I'll never know again. Thinking about that makes me feel a little faint.

We should head back. I can't tell the time right now, but we do have club.

I think I can just...

"Memory Lane."

There. Isn't that neat? With just the faintest of whispers and a little bit of magic, we're back in the woods- and my phone is buzzing in my pocket with messages. Specifically, texts from Ortho.

12:02

[This groupchat was created]

[Groupchat renamed to "Board Games Club]

8:34

(666-89-02740) Hi!

This is Ortho Shroud of Ignihyde

You are Yuu of Pomefiore, right?

And Azul Ashengrotto of Octanville

8:35

(534-82-42001) Yes, this is Azul.

Why are you texting us?

The lounge is opening.

(666-89-02740) Board Games club has been canceled for today

Idia is sick

And the club room hasn't been cleaned yet

Neither have the games

8:36

(534-82-42001) Okay, I'll be at the lounge if you need me.

(666-89-02740) Okay!

Yuu, respond when you see this

The first thing I do before I respond is add Ortho and Azul to my contacts. I don't know how Ortho got my number, but it probably has to do with the whole "Ignihyde is the tech dorm" thing. The second thing I do is look at the time, and the third is sigh with relief. We'd be late if it weren't for club being canceled.

10:07

(Yuu & Grim) We have seen this!

(Blue Candle) Got it

Thank you!

I smile. It feels like I'm connecting with this new world a little bit more at a time, and the thought is enough to distract from the still-drying tears on my cheeks. Grim is purring again, probably unintentionally.

And that connection with my old one is gone. Was it ever even there? My life was nothing special, except for Grim. I should know- interesting things stick in my mind. I lost a lot of then after the whole car-and-cat thing, but I remember some of Shakespeare's plays. They were interesting.

I only remember one of them, though- what was it called? The Ides Of March, I think that's it. All I really recall is the name and that some guy got stabbed.

I remember that play better than I remember my biological parents, and I barely remember the play. Did I even live with them? Did I ever know them? Maybe I was raised by a straight couple. Or a lesbian. Or two lesbians.

No matter. Right now, my "parents" are a pair of theater kids, and I'm happy with that. I like them. Vil personally dematted my hair when I first arrived.

...Hold on. I was raised by parents, not aunts or uncles or anything, I know that much. And I know they were alive and in the house. And I know parents are supposed to care for their children.

So, why was my hair a rat's nest when I first came to Night Raven? Why did Vil have to spend so long fixing it? Why am I hyperventilating?!

I hold my breath and pray to whatever will listen to please let me faint. That's what I always did back then... okay, maybe that just means this is a bad thing to do.

Maybe my poor memory is one of the ways I cope. I'll never know with what. That's the point, after all.

My phone breifly vibrates with another message, this one directly from Ortho to me with nobody else involved.

10:46

(Blue Candle) Hey

I can't find anything on you except school-related stuff

Like

Anything

(Yuu & Grim) Why were you looking for that?

(Blue Candle) The nurse asked me if I could find your medical history and stuff

You know

For safety reasons

Seems reasonable. Although, wouldn't it make more sense to contact Vil first? And then Rook? Or the headmage, even? Maybe Ortho knows her personally or something. Maybe she wanted to contact Idia, but he sent his brother in his place. Yeah, that makes sense.

10:47

(Yuu & Grim) Yeah idk lol

Good luck

(Blue Candle) ???

That does not help

(Yuu & Grim) 🤷

(Blue Candle) 😐

😑

😐

I don't send anything new, still processing my delight over the discovery of this world's emojis. By the time I look back, Ortho has sent another text

10:48

(Blue Candle) Meet me in the nurse's office soon so I can get your blood type and stuff

(Yuu & Grim) Ok!

"C'mon, Yuu! Let's go, I'm bored," meows Grim. I smile and nod. I can process this later, anyway.

@cenatour