Shadow of the forest

The boy's eyes fluttered open to darkness. Not the soft, familiar darkness of night, but a suffocating blackness that clung to the air like damp smoke. Cold earth pressed against his back, coarse and unyielding, while the faint scent of pine needles and rotting leaves filled his lungs. He lay there, motionless, his mind an empty void, searching for an answer to the simplest of questions.

Who am I?

He sat up abruptly, his breath hitching. His hands, caked in dirt, trembled as they raked through the scattered leaves beneath him. The ground was uneven, littered with stones and tangled roots, and his body ached as if he'd been dropped there from a great height. No name came to him. No memory. Just a hollow space where his past should have been.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves high above. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its mournful cry echoing through the void. He turned his head slowly, scanning the shadows. The trees rose like skeletal towers around him, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. Their silhouettes loomed, twisted and ancient, as if the forest itself had been frozen in time.

And then he saw it.

His arm.

In the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the canopy, his left forearm shimmered with faint lines of silver, intricate and jagged. Scars. They crisscrossed his skin like cracks in porcelain, glowing softly, unnaturally. He ran his fingers over them, wincing as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his body. The scars burned briefly, then faded, as if mocking his confusion.

"What... what is this?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar to his own ears.

No answer came, only the persistent rustling of the leaves. It was then he realized-the forest was moving.

At first, he thought it was his imagination, his panic conjuring illusions in the shadows. But no, the trees themselves shifted. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the branches swayed and twisted, even though there was no wind. The air was heavy, still, yet the shadows beneath the trees seemed to slither like living things.

A cold knot of fear coiled in his chest. He scrambled to his feet, his bare soles sinking into the cold, damp earth. "Hello?" he called out, his voice breaking. "Is anyone there?"

Again, nothing.

He turned in a slow circle, his heart hammering. That's when he noticed the faint glimmer in the distance, barely visible through the thick undergrowth. A pale, silvery light, flickering like a dying star. It pulsed, slow and steady, drawing him toward it.

Compelled, he stumbled forward, his legs weak and unsteady. Thorny branches snagged at his skin as he pushed through the dense brush, but he barely felt the scratches. The light called to him, tugging at something deep within his chest, something buried beneath the fear.

As he neared, the glow grew brighter, illuminating a clearing up ahead. The trees parted like curtains, their branches creaking as they moved aside. The boy stepped into the space, his breath catching in his throat.

The clearing was small and circular, the ground covered in moss that glowed faintly under the light of the moon. In the center stood a massive stone monolith, jagged and ancient, its surface covered in strange, glowing symbols that matched the scars on his arm.

He approached cautiously, drawn to the monolith as though it were alive. His hand trembled as he reached out to touch it. The moment his fingers brushed the stone, a violent surge of energy shot through his body.

Visions. Flashes of light and shadow, faces he didn't recognize, screams that tore through his mind like shards of glass. He saw a towering figure cloaked in darkness, eyes like burning coals, and the whisper of a name-Eryndor.

The boy stumbled back, clutching his head as the visions faded. The forest seemed to close in around him, the trees leaning closer, their shadows deepening. Panic surged in his chest, and he turned to run, but the ground beneath him shifted. Roots burst from the earth, curling around his ankles and dragging him down.

A voice echoed through the clearing, low and guttural, like the groan of ancient wood.

"You do not belong here."

And then, the boy's world went black again.