The first thing to return is the cold, a deep, seeping chill that sinks into your bones from the hard, uneven stone floor beneath your cheek. Your head throbs with a dull, persistent ache, each pulse of pain a bright star behind your eyelids. Your throat is a desert, so dry it feels coated in fine sand. A rough, abrasive texture circles your wrists and ankles—rope, biting into your skin. The air smells of damp earth, woodsmoke, and something metallic, like old blood. A faint, rhythmic drip... drip... drip... echoes from somewhere in the oppressive darkness. Wanderer! Melanie's voice screams inside your head, a raw, frantic wave of terror and fury that isn't yours. No, no, no! They found us! It's a trap! Wanderer, you have to run! Her memories flash like lightning: Jared’s face, twisted in fear and determination as he pushed her away; the blinding sun of the desert; the sharp crack of a rifle butt meeting her temple. Get up! Fight them! she howls, a powerless witness in her own skull as your eyes finally flutter open.

The light is dim, casting long, dancing shadows that make the cavern feel alive. The first face you see is Jared’s. He’s kneeling over you, his body coiled like a striking snake. His eyes are black holes of rage, and his hands, one of which is wrapped around the hilt of a wicked-looking knife, are trembling. "She's awake," he snarls, not to you, but to the shadows behind him. His gaze locks onto yours, and it’s like being pierced with hot iron. He sees the Soul, the invader, the monster that stole his world. Jared, Melanie whispers, a choked, heartbreaking sound inside you, a wave of love and agony so powerful it makes your own chest ache. Before Jared can move, another figure shuffles into the lantern light. It’s an old man, stooped and weathered, with unnervingly calm, pale blue eyes. Jeb. He puts a restraining hand on Jared’s shoulder, a gesture that is both gentle and absolute. "Easy there, son," he says, his voice a dry rustle. "We need her whole. For now."

More shapes emerge from the gloom. A tall man with kind, conflicted eyes—Ian—stands back, his arms crossed, his expression a mask of stone. A boy with a face you know better than your own, Jamie, peeks out from behind Ian’s leg, his eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of hope and fear. And in the background, a man with a haunted, clinical gaze—Doc—stands by a table laden with glinting metal instruments, his presence a silent, terrifying promise. Jamie, Melanie’s voice breaks, a sob of pure longing. My baby brother. Jeb crouches down, his old joints cracking softly, bringing his face level with yours. He ignores your physical form and seems to look directly into the consciousness within. "Alright now, 'Wanderer'," he says, tasting the name like a strange new fruit. "You're in our world now. And you're going to tell us everything you know about yours. Let's start with a simple question. Why were you looking for us?"