He had always known the rules.
Or at least, he had always known that he wasn't allowed to break them.
The village elders whispered the laws like prayers and stayed within the markers, do not wander alone, never question the rituals. And every month, the boy watched the sacrifices—the offerings made to the unknown god of the forest. Boys and girls, older than him, chosen at random, carried to the altar beneath the ancient trees, faces pale, eyes wide, hands trembling.
He had always thought, "I won't be one of them".
But sometimes the world feels bigger than fear.
The forest of Lunaria stretched endlessly beyond the village, a tangle of roots and fog and shadows. It called to him, soft and persistent, and for the first time, he wanted to answer.
"You can't go there," one of the elders said as he slipped past the boundary that morning. "The forest watches."
He ignored them.
The wisp appeared then, small and trembling, a pale flicker over the moss. It had been watching him for days, he realized, hovering just out of reach, curious, protective, silent.
"You're so pretty…" he whispered. "Wanna play?"
The wisp hesitated, then drifted closer, pulsing faint light.
He followed it deeper into the forest. Each step felt like freedom—soft moss underfoot, roots curling like hands, the fog warm and quiet.
But the village was not content to let him wander.
He heard shouts behind him. Voices—angry, desperate, old and young alike—echoing through the trees. The elders had sent hunters. They would not let him break their rules.
"Stop!" one yelled. "Come back!"
He ran faster, the wisp guiding him, small pulses lighting a path through the underbrush. But the hunters were relentless, and one of them had a gun—a metal thing that screamed through the air and found him in the side of his belly.
Pain exploded. He gasped. Warmth spread across his fingers, his chest, his legs. He stumbled, the ground rising to meet him as he tumbled down a hill, the wisp hovering frantically above him.
He could see the sky through the trees, the sunlight that had always been just out of reach.
"I… I wanted to see the outside," he whispered, a pitiful, dying voice.
The fog swallowed him. The forest remained silent.
And then he was gone.
Days later, something new drifted into Lunaria—a faceless, nameless, weightless spirit. It moved quietly, unnoticed. And there, in the hollow where the boy had fallen, it found him.
The spirit paused. It had no form. No heartbeat. No memory. Only a question: "Why am I here?"
Then it reached out.
It borrowed the body.
A flicker of light appeared above the moss. A soft, glowing figure, small, cat-sized, with shimmering eyes and a tail that curled like a question mark, floated just out of reach.
"I'm Eui," it said. "A Narrator Spirit. I don't guide. I don't interfere. I just tell the story."
That night, the forest was quiet.