Chapter 42- Jump the Haystack, Over the Rainbow... with me.

The path has turned golden.

The leaves underfoot are dry and crunchy, occasionally leaping up in tiny spirals with each step like giggling children playing tag. The smell of cinnamon hangs thick, and even the air feels nostalgic—like it has a story to tell if you’d only ask.

But Ydoc doesn’t laugh.

His hand—just for a moment—rests against the side of his head.

Not a migraine.

More like... a twist.
Like someone gently tugging at a ribbon tied inside his brain.

Behind him, Froosta and Vexira are arguing.
Something about a frog.

“I’m telling you, it was a prince!”
“It was not, it was peeing!”
“That’s what princes do when cursed!”

They’re adorable idiots.
But distant.

Because Ydoc is seeing something else.

Up ahead, in a small open field just before the next grove—
a wide stack of hay bales, perfectly round and absurdly tall, like a wall made for games.

There are impressions in the grass.
Memories worn into the dirt.
His boots know the steps.

Suddenly—

He remembers running.
Leaping.
Laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.

Three boys.
One of them, him.
The second—unknown, blurry, a tall shape in a red sash.
The third—

A Sahash.

Oh… gods.
He can feel the hug still.

Small arms. Feathery. Strong.

The Sahash leapt on him from behind, laughing in that high, squeaky way they do, sending them both toppling into the hay.

“You cheated!”
“You slowed down!”
“You’re warm...”

Ydoc smiles faintly.

And then the music starts.

Violin and guitar. Soft.
Folksy.

It winds through the trees like the first chill of dusk, playful and gentle, like a tune whistled by an old friend walking home.

Ydoc blinks. The warmth in his chest falters.

“Do you… hear that?”

He turns to ask them—

And freezes.

Ydoc turns, nostalgia swelling in his chest—

Only to be greeted by:

Two walking snowball children, hunched in a crouch, arms stiff at weird angles like awkward birds in sweaters, both staring at a frog mid-pee.

Vexira turns first.

"He’s PEEING!!"

She points with mittened hands that can barely move, wobbling slightly from the effort.
Froosta nods solemnly.

"He really is. Such form… such stream…"

Both of them are wearing matching winter fluff gear:

Puffy padded coats with white snowflake trim

Little bobble hats with blue fuzzy poms

Scarves wrapped up to their cheeks, one side slipping off Vexira’s shoulder in a dramatic swoosh

Ydoc cannot help himself.

“What… what the hell are you wearing?”

Vexira immediately strikes a pose.

“My ass-kicking suit, obviously.”

Froosta raises a mitten.

“Protective gear! The cold can sneak up on you!”

Vexira scoffs.

“He's just copying me.”

Froosta turns with a wicked grin:

“Teehee~ I DID!”

They both giggle like siblings in the snow, accidentally knocking into each other.
Froosta’s hood falls over his eyes. Vexira’s scarf catches a leaf.

Ydoc just laughs.

Loud. Sharp. A real laugh.
The kind that hurts, but in a good way.

His head pulses faintly—just a flutter of that ache.
The kind you get when you almost remember something beautiful.

Festival of the Stars…
He was happy there…

He looks at them.

Two goofballs.
Idiots.
His idiots.

He’s keeping them.

They walk.

The leaves crunch.
The wind sings.

Up ahead, framed in tall golden trees, is the beginning of a clearing—where the light seems to twist and glow like candleflame.

Vexira trots ahead, trying to move her arms.

“The Seeing Stone is just up there! It’s where the Nyphms and Fall spirits practice Earth magic!”

She throws a few weak punches in the air.

“I wanna try it. I’ve always wanted to try it! Froosta said he’d take me!”

Froosta gives a thumbs-up, but it’s awkward because his mitten is too big.

“I did promise~”

Ydoc smirks.

“Gods help us all.”

And so the Fluff Brigade marches on.

Next stop: Earth Magic, Drama, and Possible Mild Explosions.!!

The wind smells like cider. The leaves crunch soft underfoot.

And then—

“Well, stitch me sideways! Is that Ydoc I see?”

Ydoc turns.

There, standing confidently with a warm pose and gloved hand on hip, is a Poppet Man.

Fully stitched from head to toe, his eyes are buttons, lopsided and glinting like old coins. His cheeks are soft felt. Hair? Yarn, in tight twists. A bright red ribbon wraps around one stubby antler headband. (For the season, of course.)

He looks like a gift shop doll possessed by the spirit of a charming uncle.

This is JOHN.

And oh, what a sight he is.
About the same height as Ydoc—five feet flat—but standing like he owns the hedge and the whole world behind it.

“Ydoc, my favorite dreamy meatbag! Out on a stroll with the kids, eh?”

Ydoc blinks.

“...Kids?”

He looks behind him—

And there they are.

Froosta is clutching his coat sleeve like a clingy snow-koala, cheeks puffed.

Vexira is crouched low behind his leg like a grumpy goblin, arms still stuck out in that padded snow-suit.

They both look smaller.
Like—visibly smaller. As if Ydoc suddenly became their dad and the universe just rolled with it.

“They shrank,” Ydoc whispers.
“Why did they shrink!?”

John giggles. A rattling, stitched giggle.

“You’re in Fall, silly. Things don’t always stay their size here. Especially when you get near the Seeing Stones. They remember who you were.”

Froosta, now toddler-sized and bundled like a marshmallow:

“I—I’m still mighty! I just feel extra huggable!”

Vexira:

“I WILL DESTROY THIS SHAPE.”

But her tiny fists can barely move under all the fluff.

John walks up and warmly pats Ydoc on the shoulder with his velvety palm.

“Aw, look at you. A proper papa to the emotionally unstable and frost-based. Your badge of honor is earned, friend.”

Ydoc sighs, both amused and deeply confused.

“...John, why do I feel like I’ve known you forever?”

John’s button eyes glint.

“Because you have.”

The wind turns again. Cinnamon and rust.
Somewhere far off, music plays. Bells. Chimes. Maybe laughter?

“Come on,” John says. “The Stones remember you too.”

John, the button-eyed poppet man, places a hand dramatically over his chest—a chest, mind you, that is patched with three different fabrics, one of which is shaped vaguely like a duck.

“I knew it!” he cries, spinning on one foot like a sock puppet caught mid-performance.
“You’re out with the kids because it’s a BIRTHDAY ADVENTURE!”

Ydoc blinks.

Froosta, still clung to his arm like a tiny frost burrito, lets out the gentlest gasp of horror.

Vexira, bundled in her padded “Ass-Kicking Suit,” gasps louder—like a gremlin mid-sneeze.

“Whose birthday!?” she squeals.
“Is it mine!? Froosta! You didn’t get me anything!!”

Froosta shakes his marshmallow-shaped fists.

“It's not your birthday, Vexira!”

John's button eyes go wide, and he suddenly slaps both hands to his cheeks in cartoon shock.

“Ohhh… I’ve done it again!”
“Oh the shame! The faux pas! The social crime!”

He twirls with exaggerated regret, antlers wobbling, then suddenly drops to one knee like a Shakespearean actor at the fall of Rome.

“Forgive me, Ydoc. I forgot my watch again.”

Ydoc stifles a laugh, eyes sparkling. “You own a watch?”

John leans in with a finger to his stitchy lips.

“No. But it makes the excuse better.”

Froosta, cheeks puffed like steamed buns, wiggles his fingers behind John’s back in a frantic NO NO NO motion, mouthing silently:

Don’t say it!

But it’s too late.

John turns slightly, lifts his chin with noble flair, and almost says—

“It’s your—”

Froosta squeaks, whaps John with a mitt-like mitten.

John flinches dramatically, clutching his side like he’s been shot with love and betrayal.

“AH! My seams! Betrayed by frost and fluff!”

He spirals once, collapses gracefully into a seated position on the bench beside the path, then shrugs and pulls a tiny party hat from under his scarf.

Ydoc finally cracks—a deep, warm laugh that shakes the chill off his shoulders.

Vexira, always in for chaos, begins to wiggle wiggle wiggle in her padded suit, trying to dance but looking like a hot cocoa marshmallow doing the worm.

“I WANNA PARTY TOO!!” she yells.

Froosta pouts. “There’s no party, Vexira!”

John grins. “There is now.”

He pulls out a kazoo from somewhere (don’t question it), blows a slightly off-key F#, and tosses a single piece of confetti into the air.

“Happy Tuesday, everyone!!”

As Ydoc wipes his eyes from laughter, he realizes—
Whatever sorrow this day began with… it has no hold here.

He looks at Froosta’s small smile.
Vexira’s chaotic wiggles.
And John’s whole being of nonsense—

And silently vows, in the marrow of his soul—

“I’m keeping all of this. No matter what happens.”