The dense forest surrounding Aryan looked a little scary. The tall trees stood like pillars of ancient times. Their branches formed such a dense canopy that the sunlight barely touched the ground, leaving the lower portion in a perpetual evening.
Hours had passed since he'd begun walking, yet he had encountered no humans, no creatures, not even a traces of life. Still, he felt that something was not right. He could sense movement in the shadows, wild things moving just beyond his vision, but surprisingly nothing approached him.
It was as if every living thing in this place was deliberately avoiding him.
'Why?'
He had no idea.
Then again, what could one expect from a place where, immediately upon arriving, he had experienced unbearable pain, terrifying visions, and heard a voice commanding him to kill to survive?
The more Aryan thought about it, the more his head began to ache. Those voices hadn't returned since. Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Or maybe not. It's possible that they were simply waiting—waiting for him to lower his guard so they could plunge him back into pain and despair.
Aryan's fist tightened around the sword. He didn't know what was happening here, but he knew one thing for certain. Wherever he was, however he had come here, and whatever was going on— he had to find a way out. He had to go back.
Back to his family.
The memory hit him like cold blow, stopping his steps. At the age of sixteen his father died in factory accident. Aryan still remember that cursed phone call... collapse of his mother hearing the news, his six-year-old sister's innocent confusion about why their world had suddenly changed.
The weight of being the head of the family had settled on his shoulders like a heavy coat he couldn't take off. Their mother had always been their pillar of strength, but when she thought no one was watching, her hands would tremble, and her composure would begin to crack.
His younger sister, bright-eyed and innocent, never fully understood why their world had changed so suddenly—why her brother now carried a burden far heavier than his age.
The guilt was a constant ache inside him. Had he done enough? Could he have worked more hours, found better jobs, somehow filled the impossible void their father had left?
He could still picture them at the breakfast table: his mother serving hot parathas with a worried crease on her forehead. she hunched over her books, mumbling about her exams. Such simple moments… so precious in their normalcy.
The realization hit him like a cold blow to the chest.
His family was waiting. His mother would be pacing near the window, the tea in her hands growing cold. His sister would be looking at the door, waiting— every second, every minute.
"I have to go back," he whispered to the towering trees. "They need me. They have no one else."
After a while, Aryan slid the sword across his back, securing it with his belt. He didn't have the strength to hold the heavy weapon for hours. His arm was starting to ache. It was better to hang it somewhere within reach.
He didn't even know how to use it. It was just there for safety.
Time seemed meaningless here. The filtered sunlight remained constant, unchanging. He had no watch, no way to measure the passage of time. Stranger still, he felt neither hunger nor thirst, only a slight fatigue that vanished the moment he stopped to rest.
'I'm not dreaming, am I?'
"Ouch."
Aryan pinched himself. But all he felt was sharp and real pain. This was no dream. His mind was full of confusion, it was hard to make sense of anything.
Whatever this place was, it didn't follow any of the rules he understands.
He started walking through the Jungle again. The path—if it could even be called that—wound endlessly through tall, towering trees. Sometimes the land rose into gentle hills, other times it dipped into shadowy valleys where the air felt heavier, more oppressive.
As he walked, the landscape undergone changes. The uniform giants with twisted trunks gave way to variety—thin trees with yellow bark that seemed to glow faintly, others with leaves that rustled without wind. Strangest of all were the impossible fruits. Seasonal varieties that shouldn't exist together, hanging ripe and tempting.
Though he wasn't hungry, he ate one of the strange fruits to make himself feel alive. It had turned out to be more delicious than anything he had ever tasted before.
The ground beneath his feet was changing too. What had once been hard soil was now soft, almost spongy. Moss had crept over everything, forming a thick, emerald carpet that completely muffled his footsteps. The silence that had surrounded him since he arrived was slowly turning into something else.
At first, he thought he was imagining it. But the further he walked further, the harder it became to ignore. A slow and soft murmur. Distant but persistent. Like voices whispering secrets just beyond comprehension. But unlike the terrifying voice he had heard before.
This felt natural, peaceful and unified.
Aryan stopped and tilted his head, trying to pinpoint the source. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, echoing through the jungle in a way that made his heart beat faster—not from fear, but from something else.
Hope.
As he moved forward, the sound became clearer, more focused, as though it were guiding him. He realized then that it wasn't voices.
It was something far more basic, far more important. It was water.
The sound of flowing water.
His throat, which hadn't felt dry until that moment, suddenly ached with thirst. His body, which had seemed disconnected from human needs in this strange place, remembered what it was like to want something as simple as a drink of cool, clean water.
Following the sound, Aryan pushed aside low-hanging branches that seemed to part willingly for him. The moss-covered ground sloped gently downward, and through the trees ahead, he caught a flash of silver—running water, reflecting the strange, unchanging light of the jungle.
The sound was unmistakable now: the soft murmur and gurgle of a stream winding over rocks and fallen logs.
Aryan quickened his pace, his heart thudding for the first time since arriving in this awe-striking place. Water meant life. Water meant survival. Water meant hope— maybe even answers about how to return to his family.
As he drew closer, the sound filled his ears, washing away the heavy silence that had followed him for so long. For the first time since his arrival, Aryan allowed himself a small smile.
He had found something real. Something that whispered of hope in this unknown world. And perhaps, if he was lucky, something that might lead him back to home.