Blore was silent for a long time before he spoke slowly: "So you left... to continue looking for answers?"

Serance nodded, his eyes tired but determined: "I have to figure it out, this is very important to you."

Blore looked at him and suddenly felt his eyes warm.

No matter what the truth is, the man in front of him raised him, protected him, and even spent half his life worrying about his life experience.

Whether they are related by blood or not is actually no longer important.

He took a deep breath and smiled slightly: "So... have you found the answer now?"

Serance didn't answer immediately, but patted him on the back gently and gestured for him to continue moving forward.

"Let's talk about it when we get home." He whispered, "This story... is still very long."

The snow continued to fall, and the village was quietly shrouded in twilight. The two figures gradually disappeared at the end of the road, leaving only a series of side-by-side footprints, deep and shallow imprints on the snow.

The moment the wooden door was opened, warm and dry air filled with the faint fragrance of Pusiluo roses hit me in the face.

Blore stood at the door and stared at it - everything in the room was exactly the same as when he left, as if time had stopped here.

The fire in the fireplace burned quietly, occasionally crackling softly, and the orange-red glow flowed across the polished oak floor.

The wicker rocking chair by the window was still in its old position, with the familiar gray wool blanket draped over the armrests.

The most eye-catching thing is the Pusiluo rose that climbs on the entire west wall. The dark blue vines grow along the special silver frame. In the firelight, the translucent petals are like breathing starlight, trembling slightly with the air flow.

Serance took off his cloak and hung it on the brass hook by the door. The metal hook made a crisp "ding" sound.

"Tea or mead?"

As he reached the cupboard, his boot heel struck a loose floorboard—and instantly the singing board began to emit a low harp note.

"Tea is fine."

Blore unconsciously stroked the chain around his wrist.

These metal rings with a cold glow appear heavy, but are actually as light as a wisp of mist, and they cannot be taken off no matter what.

He noticed a new object on the mantelpiece: a crystal box containing the ever-changing aurora borealis.

When Serance returned with the tea set, steam shaped like elves was rising from the spout of the teapot.

"The Forester's Memory Chain..."

He put down the tray, and a circle of tiny ice flowers bloomed when the bottom of the porcelain cup touched the table.

"First discovered in the ruins of the Night's Watch in the permafrost of the North."

The tea poured into the cup and shone a strange silver-blue color. Blore stared at the floating points of light and heard Serance continue:

"They haunt travelers who are 'not of this time and place.'"

The teacup was pushed in front of him, and the surface of the liquid suddenly reflected a black spire on the snowy field.

"I spent three years tracking these chains to their source."

Serance took out a leather notebook from his pocket. The third eye embedded in the spine blinked when he saw Blore.

"Until I met the Time Keepers in the Emerald Land—they said the chains on you were 'anchors of memory.'"

Blore suddenly felt the chain against his collarbone burning, and a fragment of an unfamiliar memory suddenly pierced his mind: the pale giant tree, the silhouette of a black robe under the tree, and countless floating in the air...

"Ahem!"

Serans suddenly started coughing violently, and dark golden light particles seeped out from between his fingers.

He quickly clenched his fists, but the light particles drilled back into his skin like living things.

"Don't worry about it,"

He wiped the gold stain from the corner of his mouth, "A minor problem I picked up in the strange world of the Forest of Thorns."

The room suddenly became eerily quiet, with only the vines of the Puslo rose growing quietly.

Blore found his reflection in the tea melting, and the real him felt a dryness on his cheek.

"What happened next?" he heard himself ask.

Serans turned the bone ring on the ring finger of his left hand - it was carved from the finger bones of some giant creature.

"Then my mental picture began to crumble." Tiny cracks appeared on the ring.

"It's like forcing landscapes from different seasons onto a single canvas."

His smile was a little tired.

"In the end, it was the Pixiu that dragged me out of that collapsing world."

Blore suddenly noticed a ball of silver mist curled up in the shadows in the corner, vaguely showing the shape of a young Pixiu.

It was missing a horn, and stardust-like matter was constantly emitting from the broken edge.

"So now you..."

"Anchored in this time and space."

Serance tapped the teacup gently, and the tea inside suddenly turned into dancing flames and returned to its original state.

"But none of this matters."

He suddenly leaned forward, and his old cloak swept down a few rose petals on the coffee table.

"What's important is that I found the place where you were born."

The wind chimes hanging by the window moved without wind, playing a melody that was strangely familiar to Blore.

The chains on his wrists suddenly stood up, pointing north like needles attracted by a magnet.

But neither of them noticed at this moment.

Serans's fingertips unconsciously stroked the cracks on the bone ring, and his eyes gradually became distant.

The firelight from the fireplace danced on his chiseled profile, making the tiny scars particularly clear.

"That place..." His voice dropped, as if he was suppressing some instinctive shudder. "It shouldn't even be called a forest."

Blore saw the reflection of chains in the depths of his father's pupils - countless rough metal branches entangled with each other, forming a twisted steel jungle.

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