Night pressed heavily over (灰血林迷影) Huīxiě Huīxiě Lín, the Ash-Blood Forest.
Twisted trees clawed skyward like blackened bones beneath the silver moon, roots snaking into the earth as if the forest itself breathed. Mist coiled low along the forest floor, curling around gnarled trunks and crimson spider lilies, their petals slick with dew that shimmered faintly under starlight.
A low, guttural wind whispered through the branches, carrying the scent of ash and decay. Leaves rustled in unnatural patterns, as if warning some unseen intruder—or perhaps observing one. The forest floor, littered with broken twigs and faint tracks of long-gone creatures, seemed to pulse with a subtle, restless energy.
At the forest's heart, a clearing had been prepared. Symbols and sigils glimmered faintly in the moonlight, etched into the soil and surrounded by blackened stones. Vials of blood—human, yokai, or something else entirely—caught the moon's glow like captured rubies. Faint incense smoke twisted upward, forming spirals that disappeared into the mist. Who had set this scene? No one could say. Yet it waited. Patient. Expectant.
Even the cries of distant owls and the rustle of crows carried weight, sharpened in the thick silence, as if the forest itself held its breath. A presence lingered beyond the edge of the clearing—unseen, yet undeniably aware. The mist drew closer, curling toward the center as if drawn by some invisible current, brushing against unseen sigils with cold fingers.
Spider lilies trembled violently, petals flaring like tiny flames, their red hue bleeding into the silver haze. Every sound—the creak of roots, the hiss of shifting air, the subtle scrape of something moving unseen—was amplified in the oppressive stillness. The forest seemed alive, tightening around the clearing, as though it could sense the ritual unfolding within it.
In the depths of the Ash-Blood Forest, the shadow of something waited, patient and silent. Its presence brushed the edges of perception: silk swaying in a breeze that did not exist, a flicker of movement too smooth and deliberate to belong to any ordinary creature.
And yet, no name was spoken. No face revealed. Only the forest, the mist, the crimson flowers, and the faint pulse of unseen energy, carrying a promise of power, danger, and awakening.
And here's where the journey of the fallen path begins...
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LÓU DÀO ZÚ SHĪ