Long, long ago, there was once a man — a young man.
He lived alone in a secluded forest, deep among the trees where no one could ever find him. For many years he remained there, cut off from the world outside, and he preferred it that way.
He had chosen this place as his refuge, for he was no ordinary man — he was a criminal.
His crime was so abominable that it could not be written in words. It could only be described as unredeemable, blasphemous, or egregious. Beyond those words, nothing could capture the horror of what he had done.
Yet, despite his unforgivable sin, fortune favored him. He escaped and fled into the forest. People searched for him for years, but none succeeded. He was a master of concealment.
After many years in hiding, he grew used to life in the wild.
He lived freely, without laws or limits. Though loneliness sometimes weighed upon him, he had already decided — he would spend the rest of his life this way.
He felt no remorse. In fact, he took pride in his crime, boasting that it had been the best moment of his life. How brazen and shameless he was.
But one day, as he wandered near the lake — the same lake he often visited — he saw something.
Across the water stood a figure. It looked nothing like a human being.
Terror seized him. He screamed until his throat felt torn, then fled without looking back.
It was not the creature's appearance that filled him with fear, but the realization that he had been found.
He hid inside his shelter until nightfall. When he finally stepped outside, the forest looked as it always had — dark and silent, untouched. He convinced himself that what he saw had been a dream. After all, he had not slept well for days. In his restless nights, he often dreamt of someone watching him from afar — always watching, never moving, never speaking... yet always there.
That night, surrounded by darkness, he returned to the lake, thinking he might wash away his fears. When he was done, he turned to go home. But as he looked over his shoulder—
It was there.
The figure had been standing right behind him all along.
The man who once thought he could hide forever had been found — in the most dreadful way imaginable.
He ran, stumbling through the trees, desperate to reach his shelter. But it was gone. The forest — the one he knew better than anyone — had changed. The paths twisted into shapes he didn't recognize.
Behind him, the figure moved closer. Slowly. Patiently. Watching.
He collapsed in despair, crying and begging for mercy.
For forgiveness.
How pitiful — that one so wicked should still plead for grace.
The figure stood before him, silent. Its face twisted into something indescribable — neither anger nor pity, but something far worse.
A few days later, the villagers found him.
At first, they rejoiced, believing the long-missing man had finally been discovered. But joy turned to horror.
He was hanging from the tallest tree in the forest. His body was stripped bare and stained a deep, dark red. His eyes were gouged out, his tongue torn, his limbs severed. All that remained was an empty shell, swaying in the wind.
The villagers could not comprehend what they saw.
But some whispered that it was the punishment he deserved — that no one can escape their sins, no matter how deep they hide.
For the forest has eyes.
And the Eyes do not merely watch.
They sense.
They act.
They judge.