Aisling Murphy stood at the cliff's edge with a fist full of wildflowers. She was eight years old, in a boy's brown coat, her black ponytail loose in the wind. She tipped her head back and watched the pale light wash over the sky. That was all she wanted, just to look up a while longer. Below her, the mountain dropped into deep shadow and loose rock. A small dog barked at her heels. The chihuahua puppy chased her shoelaces, round eyes bright, tail spinning. Aisling laughed and spun too. She did not watch her feet. The ground gave way. One flower slipped from her hand. Then the whole world tilted. She fell. Her head struck stone, and the sky went dark. The puppy leaned over the edge and barked. She barked again, and again, a sharp little sound that would not stop. Up the slope, a woman heard it. Ember Ashworth ran the orphanage where Aisling slept each night. She was twenty-five, and she knew that bark meant the girl. Her long skirt caught on brush as she climbed. "Peaches!" she called. "Where is she? Show me." The puppy raced down the rocks and Ember followed. At the bottom she found Aisling crumpled in the dirt, still, flowers scattered near her open hand. Ember dropped to her knees. "No. No, little one." She pressed two fingers to the girl's neck. A pulse beat there, faint but steady. Ember gathered Aisling into her arms. The girl was lighter than she expected. She stood, braced her feet on the loose stone, and climbed. Peaches ran ahead, looking back at every turn. Ember did not stop until the warm wood house rose in front of her, its green shutters and long porch familiar now. She laid Aisling on a bed inside and shouted for someone to fetch the doctor. Then she sat and held the small cold hand. "Stay with me," she said. "You hear me? Stay." Minutes passed. Aisling's eyelids moved. Then her green eyes opened. She stared at the ceiling, then at the woman beside her. "You're awake." Ember's voice broke with relief. "Thank goodness. Do you hurt anywhere?" Aisling frowned. She touched the sore spot on her head. "Who are you?" she asked. Ember's smile froze. "It's me. You live here. With me and the others." "I don't," Aisling said slowly. "I don't know this room. I don't know you." Her eyes filled. "I don't know my own name." The puppy jumped onto the bed and licked her chin. Aisling flinched from the dog she had chased an hour ago. Ember gripped the bedpost. The fall had not taken the girl's life. It had taken something else. She rose fast and went to the door. "The doctor," she said, loud and firm. "Now. Hurry." Behind her, Aisling pulled the blanket to her chin and watched a stranger leave the room.

They carried Aisling to the infirmary that same day. It was a small wood building with a red cross above the door. Inside, the light was soft and the beds were neat. A pain lived behind Aisling's eyes, sharp and steady. When she tried to sit up, the room swayed. She lay back down. She could not even think of standing. Somewhere out there was a sky she wanted to see, but she could not reach a window yet. Two doctors met her there. The woman wore round glasses and a blue coat, and she moved fast and sure. "I'm Dr. Hartwell," she said. "I'll have you mending soon. People doubt me. They're wrong." The man beside her carried a worn leather bag. "And I'm Dr. Blackwell," he said, kneeling to her level. "You took a hard fall. We'll take good care of you." Aisling only nodded. She did not know either face. She did not know any face. "Her head needs rest," Dr. Hartwell said. "The pain has to ease first." She crushed a pale strip of willow bark into a pot. She added slices of ginger and a handful of small white daisy flowers. The water went dark and bitter-smelling. She poured a cup and held it out. "Drink. All of it." Aisling sipped. It tasted sharp. She drank it anyway, because the woman watched her so kindly. Dr. Blackwell folded cloth around chipped ice and laid it on her head. The cold stung, then soothed. "Stay still," he said. "Let it work." "Can I go outside soon?" Aisling asked. "I want to look up at the sky." Dr. Hartwell's face softened. "Not today. Maybe not this week. You'll stay here a while. Weeks, perhaps." She tucked the blanket to Aisling's chin. "The sky will wait. I promise." The ache faded as the tea spread warm through her. Her eyes grew heavy. The two doctors dimmed the lamp and stepped away. Aisling let the pillow hold her head. For the first time since she woke, nothing hurt so much that she wanted to cry. Then she slept, and a dream came. It felt long, like a whole life she had somehow lived. She saw a cliff and loose stones. She saw a small dog spinning at her feet. She saw her own hand full of flowers and the pale light above. She reached for the sky in the dream, and almost touched it. She woke in the gray hush of the ward. The pain was gone. Her head felt clear and light. She pressed her fingers to the sore spot and found only a dull bruise. She could sit up now. She could stand, if she tried. But the dream clung to her. The cliff. The dog. The flowers. She did not remember her name. Yet now she knew one thing she wanted. She had to find that place from the dream, and look up at the real sky.

That night in the infirmary, Aisling fell into another dream. This one was not her own. She stood on red sand beside a shallow lake. The water was pale at the edges and blue in the middle. Behind her rose a stepped pyramid of red stone, baked by a hot sun. Nearby, a great metal dome held a tiny city under its gleaming shell. The dream felt a thousand years old. In the dream, Aisling was not herself. She was a small Martian girl. Beside her stood a tall, thin figure with red skin and huge black eyes. The figure wore a shiny black suit. "I am Zyx," the figure said. Zyx did not look at her. Zyx stared up at the dome. "The amplifier is thinning. It will not hold much longer." Aisling followed Zyx's gaze. High above the dome, a point of fire grew in the sky. An asteroid. It fell straight toward the red planet. "What is the amplifier?" she asked. Her voice came out small and strange. "It keeps the dome strong," Zyx said. "It bends the rock away from us. But the power fades." Zyx knelt in the red sand and placed one thin hand flat against the ground. "Feel it. The whole city is afraid." Aisling pressed her own small hand down. The sand trembled. The dome above them hummed, low and sick. Zyx stood and turned to her at last. The black eyes held no fear, only weight. "You see this so you will remember. Someone must. When the amplifier fails, we cannot stop the rock. We can only choose what to save." Zyx pointed to the dome, then to the pyramid, then to the sky. "The city. The old stone. Or the children." Aisling's chest hurt. "You have to pick?" "We already did." Zyx walked toward the lake. The fire in the sky grew wider. "We sent the children up, past the dome, past the air. We looked at the sky together one last time. Then we sealed them away and let the rest burn." Zyx stopped at the water's edge. "That is why you dream of looking up. The sky is where we put our hope." The asteroid struck. White light swallowed the sand, the lake, the pyramid, the dome. Aisling did not wake screaming. She woke slow, in the gray ward, with the words still in her. She sat up. Her head did not hurt. For the first time she understood her own pull toward the sky. It was not only her own cliff and dog and flowers. It was older than that. Someone long ago had taught a child to look up and hold on. Aisling pushed back the blanket. Her legs held her weight. She walked to the window and found the glass, then the latch. She wanted the sky now, and she meant to find a way out to see it.

The next morning, sun filled the infirmary ward. Aisling waited by the window until both doctors came in together. She had to tell them. The dreams felt too real to keep inside. Dr. Hartwell set down her black bag. Dr. Blackwell followed, his own bag swinging at his side. "I keep dreaming about a red planet," Aisling said. "A city under a dome. A tall red man named Zyx. It wasn't just a dream. I was there. I felt the sand shake." The two doctors glanced at each other. Dr. Hartwell sat on the edge of the bed. She had fought hard to be taken seriously as a woman physician, and she chose her words with care. "Aisling, listen to me," she said gently. "The fall hurt your brain. A hurt brain makes strange dreams. Loud ones. Scary ones. They feel real because the injury stirs up pictures while you sleep." Dr. Blackwell nodded. "It's very common after a head injury. The mind fills the empty space. Those dreams aren't memories. They can't be." "But the sky," Aisling said. "I always want to look up. The dream told me why." "That's the injury talking," Dr. Blackwell said kindly. "Not a message." Aisling felt her face go hot. They were not listening. They thought the dream was only broken sleep. She opened her mouth to argue, but Dr. Hartwell took her hand. "There's something else you need to hear," the doctor said. Her voice dropped. "We've watched you closely. Your memories of before the fall. Your name. The people who love you. We don't think they're coming back." The room went quiet. Aisling's chest tightened. "In most cases the brain heals and memories return," Dr. Hartwell went on. "But your injury is deep. It won't fully heal. This is likely permanent." Aisling stared at her hands. Everything she had lost would stay lost. She thought she might cry. Then the ward door opened. Ember came in fast, her red dress swishing, a small chihuahua puppy tucked against her chest. The puppy wriggled free and scrambled onto the bed. Aisling did not know this woman. She did not know the dog. But the puppy licked her chin, and something in her chest loosened. Ember knelt by the bed. Her brown eyes were wet. "I heard," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, little one." Dr. Hartwell squeezed Aisling's hand once more. "The old memories are gone. But you can still make new ones. Every single day. That's a gift. Don't waste it." Aisling looked down at the puppy in her lap. Then she looked at Ember, a stranger who had come running for her. The past was closed. But the window was still there, and the sky beyond it. "Then I want to start now," Aisling said. "I want to go outside. I want to see the sky myself." Ember wiped her eyes and smiled. "Soon," she promised. "When you're strong enough, I'll take you."

That night, Aisling slept beneath the infirmary window. Moonlight fell across her blanket. She closed her eyes, and the red planet pulled her back down. She stood in the small body of a Martian child again. Above her floated the planet, rust-colored and cracked with craters. The ground trembled. People ran toward a silver disc that hovered near the city. Its underside glowed bright. Zyx knelt beside her. The tall red Martian had big black eyes and a shiny black suit. Aisling had met him in dreams before. Now his long fingers gripped her shoulder, firm and urgent. "The asteroid is coming," Zyx said. "We cannot stay." Aisling looked up. A dark rock streaked across the sky, growing larger each second. Tall black androids with copper masks loaded crates into the disc. Their beaked faces turned toward the sky. Even the machines were fleeing. "Where do we go?" Aisling asked. Her voice came out high and small, a Martian child's voice. Zyx pointed past the dome. Far off, another planet hung in the dark. It was blue and white, swirled with clouds and green land. It looked alive. "There," Zyx said. "A new world. We go together—my people and the machines both." The androids filed up the ramp. Zyx pulled Aisling toward the disc. She stumbled against him. Then the asteroid struck. The ground split. A white flash swallowed the dome. Aisling felt heat on her back as the disc lifted. Through a window she watched the red planet shrink. The city burned below. The asteroid had done what Zyx promised it would. The disc flew toward the blue world. It landed in soft grass. The ramp lowered. Zyx stepped out first and looked around. Aisling followed. Everything was green and bright. Birds sang. Zyx bent down and picked a yellow flower from a cluster near his boots. He lifted it to his face and breathed in. "Sweet," Zyx said softly. His black eyes shone. "This place is alive. We will live here." Aisling reached for a dandelion too. Her small Martian fingers closed around the stem. She smelled it. The scent was warm and real. Then she woke. Morning light filled the ward. Aisling sat up fast. Her heart pounded, but she was not afraid. She understood now. The dream was not broken sleep. It was true. Her people had not died. They had fled. They had found a living world and landed in grass full of flowers. That was why she loved the sky. That was why she loved flowers. It was in her blood. Aisling climbed out of bed and pressed her hand to the window. The glass was cool. Beyond it, clouds drifted over green hills. "I know where I came from," she whispered. "And I know what I have to do." She would go outside. She would pick flowers and look up at the sky, the way her people did when they first landed. No doctor would keep her in this room now.

That night, Aisling waited until the ward went quiet. The doctors had gone home. She slid from her bed and crept past the empty beds to the door. The hinge gave a small creak. She froze, then pushed through into the cool dark. Outside, the infirmary's red cross sign hung above her. Aisling tipped her head back. The sky spread wide and black, dusted with stars. The moon hung crooked and pale, like a chipped stone. She breathed in the cold air and smiled. The night was beautiful. For the first time in weeks, no window stood between her and the sky. She did not know where to go. But a pull tugged at her chest, strong and sure, like a string behind her ribs. It drew her toward the dark line of trees beyond the clearing. She followed it. The woods swallowed her. Tall pines and white birches rose on every side. Wildflowers glowed faintly along the ground, yellow and red and blue. Aisling brushed past ferns and ivy. The pull grew stronger with each step. She did not feel afraid. She felt called. Then she saw it. A weathered stone stood among the roots, taller than she was. Hand-painted figures covered its face. They had thin bodies, long heads, and huge black eyes. Aisling pressed her palm to the cold rock. The painted figures looked just like Zyx. "This is them," she whispered. "My people. Someone drew them here." Her legs went heavy. A wave of tiredness poured over her, sudden and deep. She could not keep her eyes open. Aisling sank down against the base of the stone and curled into the soft moss. Sleep took her at once. The dream came fast. She stood in warm grass under a bright sun. A great stepped pyramid rose before her, built of pale stone. A silver disc rested on the ground nearby. Zyx walked down its ramp, tall and red, his black eyes shining. A man came to meet them. He wore a tall crown of bright feathers and a wide belt marked with carved symbols. He was a chieftain of the people who already lived here. He stopped before Zyx and stared, unafraid. Zyx raised one long hand in greeting. The chieftain raised his own. Behind him, his people gathered, watching the strangers from the sky. They did not run. They pointed at the disc and spoke in soft, curious voices. "We came from a dead world," Zyx said. "We wish only to live." The chieftain nodded slowly. He turned and led them toward the pyramid. Aisling understood now. Her people had not landed in an empty land. Others had welcomed them. The stone in the woods was proof. Aisling woke at dawn, cheek pressed to cold moss. The ancient stone loomed above her. She was far from the infirmary now, alone in the deep woods. But she knew the truth. Her past had been written in stone, and she had found it.

Aisling leaned against the ancient stone and shut her eyes. Sleep pulled her under again. She did not fight it. She wanted to see her people. She wanted to know what happened after the chieftain led them to the pyramid. The dream opened on warm grass. The stepped pyramid rose high, its stone terraces pale in the sun. The chieftain stood at its base in his tall feathered crown. Beside him waited a woman in a bright patterned dress, her black hair in long braids. The chieftain's people knelt in rows before the silver disc. Zyx came down the ramp, red skin shining, black eyes wide. The people pressed their faces to the dirt. They lifted their hands. They cried out, calling the strangers from the sky gods. Aisling watched the other Martians step forward. They liked the sound of it. They raised their arms and let the people kneel. They took the gifts of fruit and gold. But Zyx did not raise its arms. It stepped toward the chieftain and reached down. Zyx took the man's hands and pulled him up from his knees. "We are not gods," Zyx said. "We came from a dead world. We wish only to live beside you." The other Martians turned. They frowned at Zyx. They had wanted the kneeling. They had wanted the power. Zyx ignored them. It knelt in the grass with the chieftain's people and showed them its hands, empty and open. Day after day in the dream, Zyx stayed with the people. It taught them to read the stars. It showed them how to shape stone and track the turning sky. The woman with the braids worked at Zyx's side. She learned faster than anyone. Zyx watched her, and its black eyes softened. They built a life together. The woman was the chieftain's daughter. She and Zyx started a family. Their children ran through the grass near the pyramid, laughing, chasing each other. Their skin glowed red and brown at once. They wore the people's bright beads and the people's painted marks. The villagers called them demigods and bowed as they passed. But Aisling saw the truth. The children were not gods. They were half Zyx, half the people of this land. They were something new. In the dream, Zyx turned and looked straight at Aisling. It knew she was watching across all the years. It raised one long hand, the same way it once greeted the chieftain. Aisling woke with the sun on her face. The ancient stone stood over her. She understood it now. The others had played at being gods. Zyx had chosen to be a teacher, a husband, a father. Its blood had mixed with the people of this land. And that blood ran down through the years to her. She pressed her hand to her chest. "I am part of them too," she whispered. She stood and looked up at the wide sky, more sure than ever of who she was.

Aisling turned from the painted stone and looked back the way she had come. The trees stood dark. Somewhere past them, the infirmary waited with her empty bed. Soon the doctors would wake and find it. They would send people to drag her back. She wiped grass from her boys' trousers and made her choice. She would walk back herself, before anyone had to search. The path was long. Her head ached by the time the little wooden building came into view. A red cross marked its front. A lamp already burned behind one window. She was too late to slip in unseen. The door opened before she touched it. Dr. Hartwell stood there in her dark coat, glasses catching the lamplight. She had Aisling's blanket in her arms. Her face was pale, not angry. "You," she said, and her voice shook. "I checked your bed an hour ago. It was cold." Behind her came Dr. Blackwell, bag in hand, coat thrown on crooked. "We were about to wake the whole village," he said. "Do you know what the woods hold at night?" Aisling stood her ground. "I'm sorry I scared you. But I'm not sorry I went." A woman pushed between the doctors. Aisling did not know her face, yet the woman's eyes filled at once. This was the caretaker from the orphanage, the one who had carried her from the cliff. Aisling remembered none of it. The woman reached out, then stopped her hand in the air, afraid to touch. "Ember," Dr. Hartwell said softly. "She came back on her own." Ember knelt in the doorway. A small chihuahua squirmed in her arms and barked. "I brought Peaches," Ember said. "I thought—if you were lost, she might find you." Her voice broke. "I have been so frightened." Aisling looked at the stranger who cried over her. She felt no memory, only the plain fact that this woman loved her. "I'm all right," Aisling said. "I needed to see something. A stone in the woods. It's about where I come from." Dr. Hartwell knelt too. "You cannot run off like this. Your head is still healing. One fall out there and we could lose you." She drew a slow breath. "If you want to go outside, you ask me. I will take you myself. In daylight." Aisling studied her. The doctor was not promising to keep her locked in. She was promising a door. "You mean it?" Aisling asked. "I mean it," Dr. Hartwell said. "But you sleep here tonight. You rest." Aisling nodded. The ache behind her eyes had turned sharp. Peaches licked her hand, and she let herself be led back inside. In the narrow bed, she pulled the blanket up. No search party had dragged her anywhere. She had walked in on her own feet. Tomorrow the doctor would open the door for her. Tomorrow, in the sun, she could stand in the open and look up.

That night Aisling slept in the narrow bed, worn out from her long walk. She did not dream of flowers or the cliff. She dreamed of Zyx. He stood on a wide gray plain under a black sky, and his face was grim. "You must see this," he said. "I hoped you never would." The plain filled with figures. A towering insect thing stepped forward, its triangular head tilting, its long arms folded in a green robe. Beside it rose a scaled giant with slit eyes and clawed hands. A slender being with pale blue-green skin watched without blinking, stars swimming across its forehead. A tall creature with white-blonde hair stood in a glowing silver suit. Last came a golden figure with feline eyes and marks like constellations across her skin. "Who are they?" Aisling asked. Her voice came out small. "Others," Zyx said. "My people were not the only ones who found Earth. Word travels across the stars. A living world is rare. Now many want it." He pointed at the scaled giant. "That one would make the humans slaves and rule them." He pointed at the insect thing. "That one wants to cut them open. To study them like bugs in a jar." His black eyes turned to the golden figure and the blue-green being. "These two would help. They want the humans to grow, to learn, to stand on their own." Aisling looked from face to face. "They can't agree," she said. "No." Zyx knelt so his eyes met hers. "So there will be a war. A war for Earth. For every human alive." He paused. "You carry my blood, Aisling. Human blood too. You stand between both. That is why I show you." The gray plain began to shake. The alien figures turned toward her, all at once, and their eyes fixed on her face. The insect thing reached out one long arm. Aisling woke with a cry. Her heart slammed. Pale light filled the window. Morning. The dream had not faded like the others. Every face stayed sharp in her mind. She pushed back the blanket and sat up. Her head still ached, but her thoughts were clear. This was not only about where she came from anymore. Zyx had shown her a war coming for everyone. For Ember, who cried in the doorway. For the doctors. For all the humans who knew nothing. Footsteps came down the hall. Dr. Hartwell opened the door, already in her coat. "You're awake early," she said. Aisling stood. Her hands shook, but her voice did not. "You promised you'd take me outside. In the daylight." She looked at the doctor. "I need to go now. To the stone in the woods. There's something I have to understand before it's too late." Dr. Hartwell studied her pale face and said nothing for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Get your boots."

Dr. Hartwell walked beside Aisling into the trees. The morning sun cut through the thick oaks and pines. Birds moved high in the leaves. Aisling knew the way now. She had walked it in the dark before. This time she saw everything clearly, and her boots were steady on the dirt. "The stone is close," Aisling said. "I need to touch it. Just once." Dr. Hartwell slowed. "Touch it, then we go back. You still need rest." She did not believe the dreams. She only kept her promise. But she stayed near, one hand ready behind the girl's shoulder. They came into a small clearing. The stone stood there, tall and cracked. Painted figures covered its face. Thin bodies, big dark eyes, strange marks between them. Aisling stared at one red figure. She knew that shape. She walked forward and pressed her palm flat against the cold stone. The clearing went quiet. The birds stopped. A faint shape pulled itself out of the rock, red and thin, with huge black eyes. Dr. Hartwell stepped back and gripped Aisling's arm, but Aisling did not move. She had seen this face in every dream. "Zyx," she whispered. "Do not be afraid," Zyx said. His voice was soft and dry. "The war is not coming, Aisling. It already happened. Two thousand years ago. I am long gone." Aisling's hand trembled on the stone. "But you talk to me. You show me things." "Because I live in you," Zyx said. "I am part of you. One of your past lives. When you fell and hit your head, you did not only lose your old memories. You unlocked older ones. The lives that came before this one." Dr. Hartwell stood frozen. She saw the red figure now too. Her mouth opened, but no words came. "In your dreams you reach your past lives," Zyx went on. "You can call us. You can ask us for help. That is the gift the fall gave you." His black eyes held hers. "You asked why the dreams feel true. Now you know. They are not sickness. They are memory." The red figure began to fade back into the painted rock. "The others still come for Earth," he said. "That part is real. You will need every life you carry." Then he was gone. Only paint remained. Aisling pulled her hand from the stone. Her legs shook. She turned and looked up through the gap in the trees, at the bright open sky. The same pull she always felt was stronger now. She understood it at last. Dr. Hartwell knelt beside her, pale. "I saw it," the doctor said, barely breathing. "I saw him. Aisling, what are you?" Aisling did not answer right away. She kept her eyes on the sky. The truth sat heavy in her chest. She was not one girl. She was many, and they were all awake now.

Aisling kept her palm on the warm stone. The paint still held Zyx's shape, but she knew he could hear her. "You said the war already happened," she said. "Two thousand years ago. Tell me who won. Tell me all of it." The red figure pulled free of the rock again. His black eyes found hers. "You asked the hard question. Good." He raised one thin hand toward the gap in the trees. The sky there shifted. Aisling saw ships, hundreds of them, streaking across a burning sky. Lasers crossed and burst. The vision filled the clearing with noise, then faded. "Five peoples came for Earth," Zyx said. "My people were few. We could not fight that. One kind ruled above the rest. They called themselves the Anunnaki. They won the war. They decided humanity's fate." Aisling's hand shook. "Then Earth is already theirs." "Listen," Zyx said. The sky changed once more. A winged woman stood on a stepped stone pyramid, gold at her brow, a white robe pouring down. She held a small cross by a loop. "Her name is Isis," Zyx said. "She led the Anunnaki. But she did not want slaves. When she won, she made a law. Every people must leave humanity alone. No more ruling. No more hurting. Only watching." "They left?" Aisling asked. "Not at first." Zyx's voice went soft. "Before they left, all the peoples married into humankind. Their children ruled for a time. Each new child carried less of the old blood. The blood thinned. It thinned in you too." On the pyramid steps two small children played, red-skinned, bright with paint, laughing as they chased each other. "My own line," Zyx said. "Yours." Dr. Hartwell knelt in the dirt, pale, watching the visions she should not have been able to see. "Isis worked beside me," Zyx said. "I helped her ready the peoples to go. We agreed on one thing. Humans must grow on their own. We could guide, never force. Some of my kind wanted to lead humanity toward darkness. Isis and I chose the light." The visions dimmed. "That is the whole truth. The Anunnaki won. Then they let Earth go." Aisling pulled her hand from the stone. Her legs held this time. She looked up through the trees at the real sky, blue and empty and quiet. For the first time it did not feel like a warning. "So nobody is coming," she said. "Not to rule," Zyx said. "But the law bends. Some still whisper. You carry both bloods, Aisling. You can carry the light forward." He faded into paint. Dr. Hartwell stood and took Aisling's hand. "We should go back." Aisling nodded, but she did not look away from the sky. The old pull was still there. It had never been fear. It was a job waiting for her. She turned toward the orphanage, already carrying the weight of it.

Dr. Hartwell signed the last paper and set down her pen. "You're well enough to go home," she said. Aisling had waited a whole extra week for those words. She climbed down from the bed and followed the doctor out the infirmary door. The house waited at the end of the path. It rose two stories, pale yellow with green shutters, its porch wide and welcoming under a steep roof. Aisling knew she had lived here before the fall. She felt nothing when she looked at it, no memory, only the shape of a place that should mean something. She walked up the porch steps anyway. Inside, a small room held a narrow bed and a window full of sky. On the desk sat a blank book and a cup of pencils. Aisling had asked for them days ago. She had decided to keep a journal. If her old memories were gone for good, she would make new ones she could hold. She opened the book to the first page. She drew the cliff from her dream, then the dog, then a field of flowers. Below that she wrote the date. "This is day one," she said to the empty room. "I start here." Then she drew what she had learned. She sketched the moon and gave it a hollow center where aliens waited. She drew others buried under the ground, others hidden in the sea, others slipped sideways into places she had no words for. All of them watched Earth. All of them waited for humans to grow enough to choose their own fate. Her hand moved fast, sure, filling the page. A voice came close to her ear. It was Zyx, though no red figure stood in the room. "You will have more dreams," he said. "Other past lives, other times, other worlds. Learn from them." Aisling kept her pencil still and listened. "But do not forget to live this life," Zyx said. "Learn from it too." The voice faded. Aisling looked at the full page, then at the many blank ones left. She understood what he meant. The dreams gave her the deep past. The journal would hold the now. She needed both to carry the light forward. She set the book on the windowsill and looked up through the glass at the real sky. The old pull was still there, steady and quiet. Tomorrow she would go outside. She would pick flowers from the garden below and press one between these pages. She would start living the life in front of her, not only the ones behind. Aisling closed the journal and left it where the morning light would find it first. She was home. The record had begun.