Valen embarks on a journey to the border he left behind long ago, a place he once called home. There, he lived alone, haunted only by demons and strange occurrences from the greatest abyss, which tormented all who lingered near its edge.
Orlen shouted just as he departed, "Just be careful!" Valen, hearing nothing but the echo of those words, raised his hand in acknowledgment.
Several hours later, Valen entered the Whispering Forest.
The air was thick with the sound of distant, haunting cries, drifting through the gnarled branches. "Usizo!"—a voice cried in forgotten language, its tone ragged and desperate. Another, muffled and strained, echoed through the trees: "Adoh na! Adoh na!" in a language Valen couldn't place, long forgotten by most. The eerie chorus continued, cries in tongues long unused, each one more urgent than the last, as if calling from another time, from another world. The voices seemed to twist and distort in the forest's deep shadows, each plea a reminder of the forgotten souls trapped within.
The forest itself seemed to lean in close, its twisted trees reaching out with skeletal branches, casting long, grotesque shadows that shifted unnaturally. The ground was damp, the smell of decay and rot heavy in the air. Valen's boots sank slightly into the soft earth with each step, his every movement muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. A sudden chill crept up his spine, as though the very forest was alive, watching him.
He paused as a strange glow flickered through the trees pale and cold, like the light of a dying star. His heart skipped a beat. The source was nowhere in sight, but it danced and flickered, casting an unsettling light on the forest floor. In the faint glow, Valen noticed symbols carved into the bark of nearby trees, worn with age yet unmistakable: strange, angular marks that seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie energy.
A shrill cry broke through the silence, a voice more desperate than the others: "Pomosha!" It echoed in a language older than any Valen knew. The ground beneath his feet trembled, as if something ancient, something forgotten, was waking.
The forest seemed to close in on him. Every shadow felt like a watching eye, and every rustle in the underbrush hinted at something moving just out of view. Valen's breath quickened, his instincts screaming that he was not alone. Yet, all around him, the forest remained still, as if holding its breath.
As Valen closed his eyes, the whispers of the forest seemed to grow louder, a cacophony of voices pressing in on him. Yet, when he opened them again, he found himself standing on solid ground, far removed from the eerie shadows and tortured cries of the Whispering Forest.
He was no longer surrounded by the twisting trees and oppressive atmosphere. Instead, he stood on the edge of a high cliff, overlooking the winding river below. The river's current flowed gently, its surface reflecting the fading light of the evening sky. The familiar scent of fresh water and damp earth filled his lungs. He felt the cool breeze on his skin, and the rhythmic sound of the water crashing against the rocks below brought him a strange sense of calm.
It was as though he had been transported in an instant, without any trace of magic, as if the forest had released its hold on him without a trace. The stillness of the scene before him felt almost too serene after the chaos he'd just left behind.
Valen took a deep breath, blinking in disbelief. His fingers brushed against the stone of the cliff, grounding him in the moment. He had been coming to this place for years, always fishing in solitude by the river, but tonight, something felt different. It was as if the forest had known he was leaving, as though it had relinquished its grip, allowing him to escape without warning.
The familiar sight of his old fishing spotweathered and worn over the years was a stark contrast to the foreboding depths of the forest. The evening's quiet embrace seemed to mock the horrors he'd just experienced. Still, as he gazed down at the river, he couldn't shake the feeling that something, or someone, had been watching him, even here.
He sighed, sitting down on a flat rock by the edge of the cliff. He was safe, for now. But the questions lingered, and the echoes of the forest seemed to follow him still, like a shadow that refused to fade...
Without hesitation, Valen leaped from the cliff's edge, his body slicing through the air with a precision that seemed unnatural. He hit the surface of the river below with barely a ripple, as if the water had swallowed him whole without protest. There was no splash, no disturbance in the stillness of the water, just the quiet embrace of the cold current. He swam through the darkening depths, his movements smooth and effortless, before his hand grasped the thick, damp grass at the riverbank. With one swift motion, he propelled himself from the water, standing tall, the river's coolness dripping from his clothes.
He was in no mood to pause. He walked forward without a glance back, his feet finding their way to the flower-strewn field. The flowers here were unlike any he'd seen before twisted, vibrant, and unsettling. They were red, but not the bright red of life; their petals were the deep crimson of a moon that never fully set, the color of blood spilled in darkness. These were the Flowers of Death, blooming in a field that seemed to stretch endlessly before him.
The air was thick with their scent, sharp and sickly sweet, but it was the singing that caught his attention. A haunting melody drifted through the air, the same whispers from the forest he had just left. The sound of distant voices soft, melodic, yet twisted with agony seemed to echo from the very ground itself. He didn't flinch as he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the red petals, feeling as though the earth itself sighed beneath his weight.
Each step he took through the ocean of flowers seemed to push him further into the unknown. The air around him grew heavier, as though the flowers themselves were watching, judging him. Yet, there was no hesitation in Valen's movements. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, pushing through the thick sea of deathly blooms.
And then, as though some invisible boundary had been crossed, he emerged from the field. The singing faded away, replaced by the familiar silence of the road that led to his mansion. The towering structure loomed in the distance, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. The path was well~known to him long and winding, yet always leading home. But tonight, it seemed different, somehow....