Mao Mao and Jonathan stepped into the Green Forest as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the towering trees.
The ancient trees loomed like giants, their thick trunks wrapped in moss, their branches tangled like the fingers of slumbering titans. The ground was blanketed in soft ferns and grass, so vibrantly green that even the air seemed to carry the scent of mint and morning dew.
"Whoaa…"
Jonathan's eyes sparkled as he spun in a slow circle, taking it all in.
"It's even bigger than the forests in the storybooks!"
Mao Mao smirked faintly, but his crimson eyes never stopped scanning every footprint, every broken twig, every rustle in the undergrowth.
(Still no traces… But children don't just vanish without a reason.)
Meanwhile, Jonathan dashed after a translucent blue butterfly, its wings shimmering like stained glass. He stumbled, face-planted into the soft earth, then sprang back up with a giggle.
"Mao Mao! Did you see that?! It's like it's made of light!"
"Stay close," Mao Mao said, his voice calm but firm. "This isn't a playground."
But then Jonathan froze.
His small hands dropped to his sides as he stared deep into the forest.
Something… was calling him.
"Mao Mao…" His voice was barely a whisper. "There's something… inside. It's like… it's pulling me."
Mao Mao's ears twitched. This wasn't just a child's imagination.
Jonathan's eyes they were glowing faintly.
The air around him hummed, the earth itself responding to an unseen call.
Mao Mao flicked his tail. "Fine. Let's see what's there."
Deeper they went, where the light dimmed, the sounds faded, and the air grew heavy.
Every step felt like wading into an emerald sea.
Every leaf seemed to watch.
(What will we find? Missing children… or something worse?)
And then they saw it.
A stone palace, hidden in the heart of the forest.
Mao Mao's tail went rigid.
"A… palace?" His claws unsheathed on instinct. "Out here? This isn't just old—it's ancient."
The grand structure stood defiant against time, its iron gates half-shattered, its pillars carved with forgotten sigils. The air smelled of damp stone and secrets.
But Jonathan wasn't afraid.
He stepped forward, his small hand outstretched.
"I… know this place."
Mao Mao's eyes narrowed. (Memory? Interesting.)
They crossed the crumbling threshold, the heavy oak door creaking open with a ghostly sigh. Inside, a grand hall stretched before them dusty chandeliers, moth-eaten tapestries, and furniture frozen in elegance.
Then a flicker of movement.
Upstairs, peering through the wooden banisters, was a little girl.
Her wide eyes tracked them silently.
Hiding.
Watching.
Waiting.