Amidst the wilderness, towering trees swayed, their branches creaking with a sound unique to the forest. Leaves were torn from their twigs and carried away by the wind, drifting and twirling as though they were dancing in the air.
The green foliage slowly turned to gold, a quiet herald that the sun was setting. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the gaps between branches, painting the forest with a gentle warmth. Yet the northern wind cut through the air, sharp and biting, stinging like needles against the skin.
There, stumbling through the forest, was a young adventurer. His wounded right hand was proof that he had just survived a battle with something dangerous.
He dragged an iron sword in his left hand, the blade scraping against the ground. Each step seemed to drain what little strength remained in him.
His white jacket and the green cloth draped over his shoulder no longer served their purpose. Instead of being worn properly, the thin jacket merely hung loose, exposing the disheveled, worn tunic beneath.
That tunic, pale green with red-lined accents, was now stained with blood and dirt—a grim testimony to his suffering.
His legs trembled violently, threatening to give way at any moment.
At last, the adventurer collapsed, letting his body slump against the trunk of a tree.
Exhaustion consumed him, dragging him down. Slowly, he set the silver sword at his side and clutched his injured right arm.
The wound was brutal—long gashes like the marks of a great claw stretched from shoulder to wrist. Fresh blood seeped through the white cloth he had wrapped around it, leaving a dark, heavy stain.
His face contorted with pain, jaw clenched against the torment. His breath came in ragged bursts, and in his eyes glimmered the shadows of despair.
The adventurer expected no help. He was deep in the forest, far from any village or city.
There was nothing left for him to do but wait—either to rot here, or to hope for a miracle.
He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the chaos in his chest. His eyes slid shut, surrendering to the silence around him.
The forest seemed deceptively peaceful. Birds above sang their last soft notes before nightfall, while in the distance came the faint murmur of water, perhaps a hidden stream behind the dense undergrowth.
The longer he closed his eyes, the further his consciousness drifted.
Darkness.
Everything turned pitch-black. No light. No shape.
His body felt weightless, as though floating in an empty void. The forest sounds and birdsong faded, replaced by an aching silence.
Was this the chasm between life and death?
Terror gripped the adventurer's heart.
"Mother… Father…"
Fear of death drove his mind back to his parents. He feared never returning, feared that his final memory might slip away before he could hold on to the warmth of their embrace.
Fear—fear—fear.
He dreaded that his story would end here.
His chest tightened, his breath catching as though he were being dragged beneath a freezing, endless sea.
Yet in the last fragments of his will to live, in the smallest flicker of consciousness, he prayed.
"Please… someone, anyone, help me. I beg you—I don't want to die here."
Even his inner voice faltered, thin and weak.
"...Magistre… no… God, not now. Please… don't let me die…"
...
.....
Silence. Nothing answered.
His mind still floated, suspended. Was his soul still alive, or had it already passed?
In the blackness, something appeared—a light. Slowly, it reached toward him, pulling him from the abyss.
His thoughts stirred, his spirit flaring with a last defiance. With the scraps of strength that remained, he seemed to crawl upward, reaching for that light.