Chapter 1: Awakening

The first thing Eryndor noticed was the silence. It wasn't the comforting kind that comes with solitude, nor the peaceful hush of nature at rest. This silence was oppressive, a weight pressing down on his chest like an invisible hand. His eyes fluttered open to a canopy of leaves above him, their edges gilded by sunlight filtering through gaps in the foliage. The air smelled damp, earthy, and faintly metallic—a scent he couldn't quite place but felt oddly familiar.

He sat up slowly, his body stiff as though it had been unused for days. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples, and when he pressed a palm against his forehead, his fingers came away trembling. Where was he? How did he get here? These questions buzzed in his mind like insects trapped under glass, frantic yet muffled. He tried to recall something—anything—but all he found was emptiness, a yawning void where memories should have been. 

Eryndor pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as blood rushed back into his limbs. The ground beneath him was soft, carpeted with moss and fallen leaves. He glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. Towering trees stretched skyward, their gnarled roots snaking across the forest floor like frozen lightning bolts. Shafts of golden light pierced through the dense canopy, illuminating patches of greenery and casting long shadows that danced eerily in the breeze. Somewhere far off, water dripped steadily onto stone, each plink echoing unnaturally loud in the stillness.

A shiver ran down his spine. Something about this place felt… wrong. Not dangerous, not yet, but unnatural. Like the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to make the first move. He took a cautious step forward, then another, testing the terrain. Each movement sent rustling sounds rippling outward, disturbing the eerie quiet. Every snap of twigs or crunch of leaves seemed louder than it should be, amplified by the oppressive atmosphere.

As he moved deeper into the woods, the sense of unease grew stronger. The trees here were darker, their bark twisted into grotesque shapes that resembled faces frozen mid-scream. Vines hung from branches like tattered curtains, swaying gently despite the lack of wind. And then there were the runes—faint, glowing symbols carved into some of the trunks. They pulsed softly with an inner light, shifting colors between pale blue and sickly green. When Eryndor reached out to touch one, a jolt of electricity shot through his fingertips, forcing him to yank his hand back with a sharp intake of breath.

"What the hell is this place?" he muttered aloud, his voice startling even himself. It sounded strange, hollow, as if the forest swallowed the words before they could fully form.

His gaze drifted downward, scanning the ground for any sign of a path or trail. There was none. Just endless layers of moss and roots, tangled together so tightly it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. Yet somehow, he knew which way to go. An instinctual pull tugged at him, urging him forward, deeper into the heart of the forest. It wasn't fear driving him—it was curiosity, mingled with a desperate need to understand what was happening to him.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours; time felt slippery here, slipping through his grasp like sand—and the forest began to change. The trees grew closer together, their branches intertwining overhead until only slivers of sunlight broke through. The air thickened, heavy with moisture and the faint tang of decay. Strange noises started to creep in: low growls, distant howls, the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving just beyond sight. Eryndor's steps slowed, his senses on high alert. Whatever lived in these woods, it wasn't friendly.

Then he saw it—a pair of glowing red eyes watching him from the shadows. At first, he thought it was his imagination playing tricks, but when the creature stepped into view, his stomach dropped. It was wolf-like, but larger than any wolf he'd ever seen, with sleek black fur and teeth that gleamed wetly in the dim light. Its eyes burned like embers, locking onto him with predatory focus. Behind it, more pairs of eyes appeared, flickering to life among the trees.

Eryndor froze, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. His hands clenched into fists, though he knew they wouldn't do much good against such beasts. "Stay calm," he whispered to himself, though the words did little to steady his nerves. Slowly, deliberately, he backed away, keeping his gaze fixed on the lead creature. But the moment he turned to run, the pack surged forward with terrifying speed.

Branches whipped at his face as he sprinted blindly through the forest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The wolves were fast, too fast, their snarls growing louder with every passing second. He stumbled over roots, nearly falling twice, but sheer panic kept him upright. Ahead, he spotted a narrow gap between two massive tree trunks and dove for it, hoping to lose them in the maze of vegetation.

But they didn't stop. They never stopped. One lunged at him, jaws snapping shut mere inches from his leg. Another leapt onto his back, knocking him to the ground. Pain exploded across his shoulder as razor-sharp claws tore through fabric and flesh. He thrashed wildly, trying to throw the beast off, but it was no use. More weight piled on top of him, pinning him down as the wolves closed in.

And then everything went black.

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When Eryndor opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back beneath the same tree where he'd awoken earlier. For a moment, he simply stared up at the canopy, disoriented. Hadn't he just been attacked? Killed, even? The memory was vivid—the pain, the terror, the suffocating weight of those monstrous bodies—but now it felt distant, like a dream fading upon waking.

He sat up cautiously, half-expecting the wolves to burst out of the bushes at any moment. But the forest was silent once more, untouched by violence. No blood stained his clothes, no wounds marred his skin. Even the ache in his shoulder was gone. Confusion warred with disbelief as he scrambled to his feet, searching for some explanation, some clue that might make sense of what had happened.

That's when he noticed the runes again. This time, they weren't just glowing—they were pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. As he watched, transfixed, the symbols shifted, rearranging themselves into patterns he couldn't decipher. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the light faded, leaving the forest unchanged.

Eryndor exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. Whatever this place was, whatever rules governed it, one thing was clear: death wasn't permanent here. Not for him, anyway. But why? And how many times would he have to die before he figured it out?

For now, answers eluded him. All he could do was keep moving, keep searching—for safety, for understanding, for anything that might explain the bizarre reality he'd found himself trapped in. Because one thing was certain: staying still meant inviting the wolves back. And next time, they might not let him wake up.