hallucinations

The night shimmered under the full moon's glow. Silver light cascaded over the cobblestone streets, stretching shadows between the buildings like silent sentinels. Alex had been wandering for an hour, yet the answers he sought remained elusive.

Still, the air remained heavy with traces of Uxil's affinity—faint but undeniable. It was present everywhere, wrapping around him like a phantom.

"Her affinity is something else… No matter where I go—Leventha, the kingdom, even in the people themselves—she's engraved in them, like a curse… or wisdom. Could be both."

His footsteps slowed as he approached the bustling night market. Vendors called out in hoarse voices, pushing roasted meats and fragrant wines upon weary travelers. The scent of herbs and spices clung to the wind, but Alex ignored the distractions. He was looking for something else.

He asked about the Dragon Kingdom—its history, its god. But each time the question left his lips, the mood shifted. Friendly chatter turned to stiff silence. Eyes narrowed, faces twisted with anger.

Someone spat on the ground.

Another man clenched his fists.

Then, without warning, a mob erupted—a stone hurled toward a church wall, followed by a furious outcry.

"Something isn't right."

If they revered their ancestor, the Dragon God, why did they react with such hatred?

Still, he managed to pull one thread of information from the chaos. The artifact—rumored to be hidden deep within the woodland at the end of this street.

Alex frowned. Really? "It can't be that simple."

The only one who spoke of it was a drunkard, his words slurred with intoxication. But information was information. It was better than nothing.

His boots thudded softly against the cobblestones as he slipped away from the market, the distant clamor fading behind him.

"Let's see if the drunk was telling the truth."

Deep within the Forest of the Dead, Lars fought for his life.

His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat slicking his skin. Around him, hundreds of skeletons advanced in eerie silence. Their bones, yellowed with age, bore grotesque etchings of long-faded runes, shifting unnaturally with every step.

They did not breathe.

They did not hesitate.

They only marched—toward Lars, toward his fleeting breath, toward the warmth they had long since lost.

Some carried remnants of their past—a rusted sword still lodged between ribs, arrows fractured within hollow chests, skulls split and splintered yet stubbornly animated. Others dragged themselves forward with shattered femurs and twisted spines, hands clawing at the dirt, seeking flesh to tear.

The worst part wasn't their appearance.

It was the silence.

Not a single groan. Not a mindless shriek. Just the brittle clatter of bones grinding together—a hollow metronome counting down to his death.

Lars tightened his grip on his sword.

Four bodies lay at his feet—his fallen comrades.

"Huff… huff… I have to survive. I can't die here."

A name flickered in his mind.

General Viscal.

"I have to survive. I can't let his name down."

Then with 

A piercing headache.

The battlefield twisted. Vision warped. The skeletons blurred, their bones shifting in impossible patterns. The ground undulated, folding in on itself like a nightmare unraveling.

Lars staggered, sword slipping from his grasp.

Whispers clawed at his ears.

"Wake up."

A scent—sharp, pungent—burned his nostrils.

His eyes snapped open.

Luck stood beside him, a pair of socks pressed against his face.

Lars gagged, shoving him away. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Luck grinned. "You passed out without even resisting the mind control. Seriously?"

Lars sat up, breath still uneven. The battlefield was gone. No skeletons. No corpses. Only the dim glow of the forest surrounding them. Nearby, a severed witch's head lay in a pool of dark green blood.

Shelly sighed. "Finally, you're awake."

Mishel crossed his arms while Ember muttered, "We need to leave. The forest turned into a red zone again. Dungeon breaks are getting more frequent."

Luck extended a hand, pulling Lars to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Lars muttered, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I let my guard down."

Shelly gave him a small pat on the back. "It happens. Let's just move fast—staying here isn't safe."

Ember was already leading the way back toward the kingdom.

….

Alex walked deeper into the woodland.

These trees… they were something else. Towering, ancient, their massive trunks stretched into the sky, their dark canopies blotting out the moonlight. He couldn't tell where they began or ended—only that they loomed over him like silent watchers.

The sound of birds echoed in the distance, but even that felt… wrong. It was distorted, as if the calls did not quite belong to this world. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and flowers, their fragrance so potent it almost burned his lungs.

He kept walking. Step by step, deeper into this unknown. He didn't know how far he had gone, how much time had passed. The path twisted and coiled, shifting underfoot as if alive. But one thing was certain—the drunkard wasn't lying.

The scent—it was overwhelming now, sinking into his mind, curling around his thoughts like a whispering mist. It wasn't just fragrance; it felt like influence. A pull. A seduction.

Then he stopped.

His fingers brushed against the rough bark of a tree, but the sensation was strange—warmer than it should be, almost like flesh. He recoiled, but the tree didn't change. It stood there, unmoving.

What's happening?

The herbs, the flowers, the very air… they were pulling him in. His body wanted to move forward, but his mind was screaming at him to stop.

Alex clenched his fists.

No.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the haze creeping into his thoughts.

Whatever this place was, it wasn't normal. I need to stay sharp.

Because if I don't, I might not come back out.