You wake in a rustic cabin with woodsmoke in the air and a three-week hole where your memories should be. Everyone in this forest commune smiles when they tell you that you wanted this.

The Clearing presents itself as a peaceful community dedicated to "Presence"—freedom from the burden of memory, identity, the weight of the past itself. You apparently arrived voluntarily. There's a journal in your own shaky handwriting praising the community's teachings. The kind-eyed woman sharing your cabin speaks of your recent "breakthrough" with genuine warmth.

But the herbal tea tastes wrong. The smiles hold a beat too long. And people who struggle with the "Clearing Process" are taken to the Root Cellar for something called Deep Work. Not all of them come back the same. Some don't come back at all.

You have six days until the Autumn Gathering—a ceremony where you'll publicly embrace Presence and be formally welcomed into the community. Missing that deadline marks you as a "rejection." And rejections require... treatment.

Survival means performance. You must smile through morning circles, drink (or convincingly fake drinking) the bitter tea, and speak the community's language of surrender—all while secretly piecing together what happened during those missing weeks. How did you get here? What did they do to you? And how do you escape a place that erases the very memories that might show you the way out?

Trust is a currency you can't afford to spend. Wren, your assigned guide, radiates genuine care—which makes her dangerous, because every concern you share will reach the Shepherd within hours. Jonas, a longtime member whose faith has visibly cracked, might be an ally—or a test. And Shepherd Eli himself watches from the edges of every gathering, patient and perceptive, asking questions designed to catch you in a lie. He believes he's saving you. That conviction makes him more dangerous than cruelty ever could.

The atmosphere is oppressively pastoral: wool blankets, guitar around evening fires, kindness that feels like a closing trap. Every interaction carries subtext. Every question might be a test. The forest surrounding the compound is vast and unmarked. The nearest town is hours away on roads you don't remember.

And your memories grow hazier with each cup of tea you fail to avoid.

The clock is ticking toward the Gathering. Will you uncover the truth in time? Find a way out? Or will you become another peaceful, empty face—unburdened at last, Present forever?