Where am I...?
The world was covered in pure darkness as if everything was submerged in deep and ancient shadows.
There was not even an ounce of light, as if both the land and sky simultaneously didn't exist.
Having the world suspended in a void state.
Only a lonely
Unnoticeable by any.
A small figure drifted in this void, as if it was forgotten by the world and was banished here for all eternity.
The figure slowly opened their eyes and met with the unfathomable deep darkness.
Just then, for a moment.
For a slight split second, something flashed past their eyes. It was almost instantaneous, as if it never existed at all like an illusion.
But it was certainly there and then—
The voice came as chill as the cries of burning souls in hell, as cold and thrilling as the cries of murder of crows in a barren wasteland.
The sound vibrated in their ears and then, the darkness was expelled.
Bright white - bluish stars burned with high intensity near their eyes, expelling the overwhelming force of darkness, nearly blinding them.
Then, the world returned to normal.
The figure was sprawled on the grassy patch, blood sliding down fine grass and vermillion flowers.
The sound of rushing water echoed from the hollow rocks and mountain cliffs. Cold wind blew through the rocks and grass, producing small swish sounds.
From the ceiling directly above the figure, pale sunlight shone upon him and the grassy patch.
The cave was illuminated by that pale sunlight, reflecting more but beautiful and peaceful shadows around the corners.
Puddles of water dripped from the dripstone.
Some rocks had overgrown grass and plants of various shapes and sizes between them.
The figure moved and gripped at the grass.
Then, he stood up slowly, first on his knees and then on both legs, half trembling with his bruised body.
His bruised little body was covered in tattered rags of greyish-black hanging like a cloak, underneath the cloak was much darker cloth covering his petite body.
The skull mask we wore broke into dust, leaving only a slight piece of that pale bone stick in his hair.
His child-like face was fair skinned with round blank eyes covering most of it. His short white hair fell to the shoulder length, having dirt and rocks attached to them.
He moved his right hand towards the hole in the ceiling as if trying to catch the bright star far above in heaven.
Swish!
Wind flew, making the mess of his hair. The shine of pale light graced his head.
The light reflected itself in the black mirror of his eyes, as the eyes expanded with emotions not known by him.
At that moment something hit inside his mind. His hand dropped from the ceiling's reach, falling limply to his side.
Beneath him, the vermillion flowers that drank his spilled blood began to ripple. The petals uncurled; turning a deeper bruised purple, exhaling a faint silver mist.
Turning his blank mirror-like eyes away from the sky, he looked into the depths of the cave where the sunlight could not reach.
Deep within the subterranean tunnels, past the dripping stalactites, a soft rhythmic sound echoed which sounded like a heartbeat.
He merely tilted his head, listening to the hollow rocks hum.
Then, with silent ghost-like steps, his tattered greyish-black cloak scraping softly against the stone, the white-haired child walked away from the light, stepping deliberately back into the whispering shadows.
***
Thud! Stomp! Thud!
A soft, rhythmic clink echoed through the misty twilight of the Enchanted Woods. It was the sound of glass phials knocking gently against the woven basket at Elara's hip.
The mist here was thick, clinging to the shattered knees of ancient, moss-covered stone monuments like a shroud.
To an outsider, these woods were a labyrinth of vertical terrors, where the cliffs rose into teeth against the sky and shadows of colossal, multi-winged shapes occasionally drifted through the fog overhead.
But to Elara, it was a garden.
"Careful, Sylas," she murmured. Her warm voice carried the steady comfort of a hearth fire.
At her feet, the mystical fox, Sylas paused, his three tails sweeping the damp earth. His large, starlight-tinted eyes locked onto a patch of glowing ethereal flowers. With a delicate paw, he nudged a shimmering blue petal aside, revealing a cluster of silver-capped mushrooms.
"Oh, brilliant. Just what we needed for the mending salve," Elara smiled, kneeling down. Her dark cloak pooled around her as she carefully harvested the fungi. High above, a sharp, melodic whistle pierced the fog.
Down spiraled the silver bird, its long, ribbon-like tail trailing behind it like a streak of liquid moonlight. It landed gracefully on Elara's shoulder, nuzzling its sleek head against her cheek.
"What is it, Lyra? Did you find the river-mint?"
The silver bird chirped, but something about it gave a sense of uneasiness to Elara. The bird turned its gaze toward the north, where the forest changed.
Elara stood, adjusting her basket and followed the bird's gaze.
Even through the dense fog, the true scale of the world loomed over them. To the north, the Enchanted Woods bled into the Pale Forest. There, the cliffs climbed drastically higher, stacking like giant, jagged stairs leading up to the great Pale Mountain.
And piercing through the belly of the clouds stood the Great Burned Oak—a scorched, colossal monolith of a tree that dominated the entire underworld. Elara always felt a chill looking toward the high cliffs behind that dead tree; the air blowing from the peaks carried the faint, heavy smell of stagnant rot and ancient, absolute darkness.
But they weren't going that deep today. They were only at the border, where the two forests slightly merged.
As they stepped into the mixed zone, the air grew noticeably colder. Puddles of pale water mirrored the hollow sky above. Sylas suddenly stopped, his fur bristling. He didn't growl, but a low, inquisitive whine left his throat.
"Sylas?" Elara crept forward, stepping over a network of calcified roots.
Nestled between a steep cliff-face and a rushing stream stood an anomaly. While the surrounding trees were pale, twisted, and half-dead, one tree stood defiantly alive. Its bark was a deep, rich amber, entirely wrapped in thick, pulsing vines that thrummed with a faint, golden magic.
The tree seemed to be cradling the space beneath it, casting a protective, warm shadow.
And there, curled tightly within the hollow of those mystical vines, lay a tiny shape.
Elara's breath hitched. As what she saw didn't make any sense!
It was a child.
His petite body was covered in tattered, soot-grey rags. Short, dirt-caked white hair fell over a fair-skinned, childlike face that was far too pale, marred by dark bruises. Near his tangled hair, a sharp fragment of a white bone clung to his strands like a broken horn.
He was perfectly silent, his chest rising and falling in a deep, exhausted sleep.
A pale wraith of a lost child? But he looks much more alive. What is he doing here? She rushed forward, dropping to her knees on the damp moss beside him.
On closer inspection, she clearly saw the state of the sleeping child. Her intuition told her that something was wrong with this child but it certainly was not his fault.
"Oh, you poor little thing..." Elara whispered, completely forgetting her herbs.
Sylas approached cautiously, sniffing at the tattered cloak, while Lyra fluttered down to a nearby vine, tilting her head at the silent stranger.
Elara hovered her hands over him, sensing the lingering, heavy aura of death and hollowness clinging to his clothes yet beneath the shadow, he was just a battered, freezing boy.
He was very much dead as he was alive.
Her face distorted into an expression of disbelief and confusion, yet…
...Gently, with the utmost care so as not to frighten him if he woke, Elara reached out and cradled his bruised cheek with her warm hand.