He walked for hours.
Or maybe it was minutes. Time didn't behave the same here. The sun shifted slowly, its light slanting through the trees in long, golden fingers—but never quite setting.
His side still ached from the gash. The bleeding had stopped, but his tunic was stained dark, and his movements were slower now. Measured.
The forest grew denser.
Moss climbed the trunks. Roots arched above the ground like ribs. Every so often, he passed stones with symbols carved deep into their surface, weathered by age, half-swallowed by earth. He didn't know what they meant, but they felt… familiar.
He crouched by a stream and stared at his reflection.
His face looked calm. Too calm.
Dark eyes. Tousled black hair. Skin pale from lack of sun. There was no fear in his expression—just tired curiosity. He studied his own features like they belonged to a stranger.
A soft wind stirred the surface. His reflection broke.
He looked up.
There. Just beyond the trees, something moved. Small. Fast. Glowing faintly.
He rose, cautious. The movement wasn't aggressive. It was light, like a leaf caught in a breeze. He followed.
The figure hovered ahead, just out of reach.
Tiny wings. A trail of shimmer. Humanoid, but not human.It didn't speak. Didn't even look at him directly. But every time he hesitated, it stopped… and waited.
He didn't know why, but he felt like he was supposed to follow.
So he did.
They walked like that for a while, him, through roots and branches, and the figure, floating just ahead. Always at the edge of sight. Always just far enough that he couldn't quite see its face.
Eventually, they came to a clearing.
Ruins.
Not large, just the remnants of a structure: stone pillars, half-collapsed walls, and a massive circular emblem on the ground, covered in vines. At the center of the symbol sat a blade, plunged into the stone. It pulsed faintly.
He stepped forward. His heartbeat quickened.
The figure finally turned.
Its face still unclear, but its presence was no longer distant. There was something deeply known about it. Not from memory, but from feeling. Recognition that bypassed the mind and struck directly in the chest.
The figure floated beside the blade.
And waited.
He approached slowly, eyes fixed on the weapon. He reached out.
And stopped.
Something heavy pressed against his chest. An invisible chain. His fingers trembled as they hovered above the hilt.
A whisper rose inside him, not from the forest, not from the figure, but from the farthest edge of himself.
"Fighting back wasn't allowed. Breaking down wasn't either."
He recoiled.
A sentence, echoed from a past he didn't own anymore.
He looked at the blade.
The fairy-like being tilted its head. Not impatient. Just present. Watching.
He didn't pull the sword.
Not yet.
Instead, he sat down beside the stone. The wind moved through the ruins gently. The figure floated nearby, silent.
And for a while, he just… breathed.