The forest did not welcome me.
It didn't need to.
The moment I stepped beneath the arch of twisted branches, the air changed in a way that made my teeth ache. Not colder—heavier, like the space itself resisted being occupied. My boots sank into the soil deeper than they should have, roots curling around the soles as if testing how firmly I belonged here.
The lantern burned brighter.
Not defensively.
Cautiously.
I followed the narrow path the forest had opened, every instinct screaming that paths which appeared out of nowhere existed for one reason only—to guide prey.
The trees loomed close, trunks warped and swollen, bark split into shapes that looked uncomfortably like faces when the lantern's light brushed across them. Branches tangled overhead, blotting out the sky entirely. Whatever daylight had existed beyond this place felt theoretical now, a memory I was no longer sure I owned.
I slowed my breathing.
Panic would waste oxygen.Noise would waste time.
Both felt expensive.
The lantern's light stretched ahead of me, illuminating just enough of the path to keep me moving. Beyond that small radius, darkness pressed inward, thick and layered, like multiple shadows occupying the same space.
I stopped.
The forest stopped with me.
Not soundlessly.
Subtly.
The creaking of wood halted. The whisper of leaves stilled. Even the faint drip of moisture somewhere deeper in the trees faded, as if someone had placed a hand over the world's mouth.
I swallowed.
"Alright," I murmured. "I get it."
The lantern pulsed once, warmth blooming in my palm. The ash-veins beneath my skin responded, tightening, as if something inside me had leaned forward to listen.
I took another step.
The forest breathed again.
That was the first rule.
Movement mattered.
I continued slowly, counting my steps, stopping deliberately every few seconds just to see what would happen.
Every time I stopped, the forest held its breath.
Every time I moved, it resumed.
It wasn't reacting to sound.
It was reacting to presence.
Something watched me.
Not from one place.
From everywhere.
I felt it in the pressure behind my eyes, the faint itch at the base of my skull, the way the lantern's flame leaned and twisted without wind, tracking angles I couldn't see.
The path narrowed.
Roots jutted up through the soil, gnarled and thick, forcing me to watch my footing. I tripped once, catching myself against a tree trunk rough enough to scrape skin through fabric.
The tree shuddered.
Not violently.
Like it had been surprised.
I yanked my hand back, heart racing. The lantern flared, casting harsh light across the trunk.
For just a moment, the bark shifted.
Patterns slid, realigning into something too symmetrical to be natural. Lines formed that suggested eyes, a mouth pulled into a long, patient curve.
Then it was just bark again.
I staggered back, nearly dropping the lantern.
"Don't touch," I whispered hoarsely.
The lantern's flame dipped.
Agreement.
I moved on.
Time lost meaning here. My phone had stopped responding minutes ago, the screen black no matter how many times I pressed the button. The only measure I had was my own exhaustion, creeping up slowly but relentlessly, each step heavier than the last.
The forest didn't rush me.
It let me tire myself out.
That was the second rule.
The forest waited.
I came upon a clearing without warning.
The trees thinned abruptly, opening into a wide, circular space carpeted with dead leaves. In the center stood a stone well, ancient and cracked, its rim worn smooth by hands long gone.
The lantern dimmed.
Not dramatically.
Cautiously.
My heart sank.
"No," I breathed. "No, don't do that."
The flame wavered, shrinking, shadows leaping closer at the edges of the clearing. The trees leaned inward slightly, branches creaking as if drawn by curiosity.
I understood immediately.
The lantern didn't like this place.
That made it important.
I circled the well slowly, keeping my distance. The stones were blackened, etched with shallow grooves that might have once been symbols—or claw marks. A faint smell rose from its depths, damp and old and wrong.
I peered over the edge.
Darkness swallowed the light instantly.
Not absorbed.
Consumed.
The lantern flared in protest, heat spiking so sharply I nearly dropped it. Pain lanced up my arm, the ash-veins burning as if something had tried to pull back.
I staggered away from the well, gasping.
The forest reacted.
The trees creaked loudly, branches scraping together overhead. The shadows thickened, pooling around the base of the well, spreading outward like spilled ink.
Something moved within it.
Not climbing.
Not rising.
Uncoiling.
I backed away slowly, lantern raised, every muscle trembling.
"No," I whispered again. "Not this. Not now."
The thing in the well paused.
I felt its attention shift.
Not to the lantern.
To me.
The pressure behind my eyes intensified, sharp enough to make my vision blur. A sensation crawled along my spine, like cold fingers tracing vertebrae, counting them.
The lantern burned hotter.
The ash-veins pulsed.
For a split second, I thought the flame might go out entirely.
Then it steadied.
Not brighter.
Focused.
The shadows recoiled from its edge, retreating just enough to give me space. The thing in the well withdrew, coils sliding back into the depths without sound.
The forest exhaled.
I didn't wait to see if it would change its mind.
I turned and ran.
The clearing vanished behind me, trees closing ranks with alarming speed. Branches scraped at my clothes, roots snagged my feet, but I didn't stop. The lantern's light guided me blindly forward, its glow flickering under the strain.
I burst into another clearing and skidded to a halt.
This one was different.
The ground here was bare, packed earth devoid of leaves or undergrowth. In the center stood a massive tree, its trunk wider than a building, bark split and scarred by deep gouges.
Something was nailed to it.
I approached slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.
Bones.
Human.
Arranged carefully, deliberately, forming crude shapes against the bark. Arms spread. Legs broken and repositioned. The skull fixed at an unnatural angle, mouth open in a silent scream.
The lantern dimmed further.
I felt sick.
"This isn't…" My voice shook. "This isn't random."
The forest agreed.
The air pressed inward again, heavier than before. Shadows crept closer, writhing along the ground, converging toward the tree.
I understood then.
This was a warning.
Not to me.
To anything that followed.
The lantern's flame flickered violently, its light stuttering. Pain flared beneath my skin, the ash-veins tightening, spreading slightly higher up my arm.
I cried out, dropping to one knee.
"Stop," I gasped. "Please—"
The flame steadied.
The pain eased.
The forest quieted.
I pushed myself back to my feet, shaking. Sweat soaked my clothes, cold and clammy against my skin.
I didn't belong here.
But neither did the things that hunted me.
That was the third rule.
The forest judged everything equally.
I moved on.
The path shifted subtly now, no longer straight, curving gently, guiding me away from the clearings. The lantern brightened a fraction, its warmth more stable.
Something changed.
The pressure eased.
Not gone.
But lighter.
I sensed it then — a boundary.
Crossing it felt like stepping out of deep water onto solid ground. The forest didn't relax, but its attention shifted, as if I'd passed some unseen test.
I stopped again.
This time, the forest didn't freeze.
It continued breathing.
Watching.
But no longer pressing.
The lantern pulsed once, warm and steady.
Approval.
I sagged against a tree, exhaustion crashing over me like a wave. My legs threatened to give out, muscles screaming in protest.
I slid down and sat there, lantern cradled in my lap, staring at the dark path ahead.
"Is this it?" I whispered. "Is this how it works now?"
The lantern burned.
No answer.
Just presence.
I realized then that the forest hadn't tried to kill me.
Not really.
It had tested me.
Measured how I moved.How I reacted.How I endured.
The city had rejected me.
The monsters had herded me.
The forest had judged me.
And somehow—
I was still alive.
The lantern's flame flickered gently, casting fractured light across the trees.
I didn't know what waited ahead.
But I knew one thing with terrifying certainty:
The forest was still watching.
And now—
It knew my shape.