Chapter 2: First Death  

Eryndor's mind raced as he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the glowing runes etched into the bark of a nearby tree. The symbols pulsed faintly, their light dimming and brightening in an irregular rhythm that seemed almost… alive. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the rough surface of the trunk. A jolt of energy surged through him again, sharper this time, forcing him to yank his hand back with a hiss. His palm tingled where it had touched the wood, leaving behind a faint warmth that lingered long after he'd pulled away.

"What are you?" he murmured under his breath, half-expecting the forest to answer. Of course, it didn't. Instead, the oppressive silence returned, heavier than before, pressing down on him like a physical weight. 

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion clouding his thoughts. Something wasn't right here—something far beyond the strange runes or the eerie stillness of the woods. The attack by the wolves should have killed him. It *had* killed him. He remembered the pain vividly—the sharp teeth sinking into his flesh, the crushing weight of their bodies pinning him to the ground, the suffocating darkness swallowing him whole. And yet, here he was, alive and unharmed, standing exactly where he'd woken up earlier.

A chill ran down his spine as realization dawned. Whatever this place was, death wasn't permanent for him here. But why? What kind of twisted magic governed this forest? Was he cursed? Blessed? Or was this some kind of punishment?

Eryndor clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Fine," he muttered aloud, his voice low but firm. "If I'm stuck in some nightmare, I'll figure it out myself."

With newfound resolve, he turned away from the glowing runes and began walking deeper into the forest. Each step felt deliberate now, driven by purpose rather than blind panic. He scanned his surroundings carefully, looking for anything unusual—a path, a landmark, another set of runes—anything that might provide answers. But the woods remained stubbornly uniform, a labyrinth of trees and shadows stretching endlessly in every direction.

The farther he ventured, the more the atmosphere shifted. The air grew colder, carrying with it the faint scent of decay. The sunlight filtering through the canopy dimmed, casting longer, darker shadows across the forest floor. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped steadily onto stone, each plink echoing unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet. Eryndor couldn't shake the feeling that the forest was watching him, its unseen eyes tracking his every move.

Then he heard it—a low growl, barely audible over the dripping water. He froze, his muscles tensing as the sound repeated, louder this time. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source, dread pooling in his stomach. There, emerging from the shadows, was one of the wolf-like creatures that had attacked him earlier. Its glowing red eyes locked onto him, burning with predatory hunger. Behind it, more pairs of eyes flickered to life among the trees, surrounding him.

Eryndor swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. This time, there was no running. No point in fleeing when he already knew what would happen next. If dying was part of this bizarre cycle, then maybe he could use it to his advantage—to test the limits of whatever force kept bringing him back.

The lead creature lunged at him, its movements swift and fluid. Eryndor didn't resist. He simply stood there, arms at his sides, waiting for the inevitable. Pain exploded across his chest as the beast slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. Claws raked across his torso, tearing through fabric and flesh. Another wolf joined the fray, biting down on his arm with enough force to shatter bone. Agony coursed through him, blinding and overwhelming, but he forced himself to stay conscious, to endure until the very end.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, everything went black.

---

When Eryndor opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back beneath the same tree where he'd awoken twice before. For a moment, he simply stared up at the canopy, letting the reality of what had just happened sink in. He sat up slowly, checking his body for injuries. Once again, there were none. Not even a scratch marred his skin, and the shredded remains of his shirt had somehow repaired themselves, leaving no trace of the attack.

"Well," he said aloud, his voice dry and humorless, "that confirms it."

Death wasn't permanent here. At least, not for him. Every time he died, he woke up back at the beginning, as if nothing had happened. It was maddening, infuriating—and yet, strangely fascinating. What kind of power allowed something like this to exist? More importantly, how could he control it?

Eryndor pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt and leaves off his clothes. His initial fear had given way to curiosity, tempered by a healthy dose of caution. If dying reset everything, then perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Maybe he could experiment, push the boundaries of this strange phenomenon, and uncover its secrets.

But first, he needed to understand the rules. Did the loop always bring him back to the same spot? Were there any changes between resets, however small? And what about the runes—did they play a role in all of this?

Determined to find answers, Eryndor began retracing his steps from earlier. He walked slowly, paying close attention to his surroundings. The forest looked identical to how it had before—same trees, same moss-covered roots, same eerie stillness—but he noticed subtle differences upon closer inspection. A fallen branch that had been lying across his path earlier was now propped upright against a tree. A cluster of mushrooms growing near a patch of moss had shifted slightly, their caps tilted at a different angle. Even the pattern of sunlight filtering through the canopy seemed altered, casting shadows in places they hadn't been before.

These changes were minor, almost imperceptible, but they confirmed what he'd suspected: while the loop reset certain elements of the forest, others remained unaffected. It was as if the world around him existed in two states—one fixed and unchanging, the other fluid and dynamic.

Eryndor knelt beside the cluster of mushrooms, studying them intently. He reached out and nudged one of the caps with his finger, tilting it further. Then he straightened and took a few steps back, observing the scene. If the loop truly reset everything, the mushroom should return to its original position the next time he died. But if it stayed tilted, that meant his actions could influence the environment—even within the confines of the cycle.

To test his theory, Eryndor deliberately provoked another encounter with the wolves. He wandered into the same clearing where he'd been attacked earlier, making enough noise to draw their attention. Sure enough, the pack emerged from the shadows, their glowing eyes locking onto him with predatory focus. One of the creatures lunged at him, its jaws snapping shut around his throat.

Pain flared briefly before darkness claimed him once more.

---

When Eryndor woke up again, he immediately checked the mushrooms. To his satisfaction, the cap he'd tilted remained in its new position, unchanged by the reset. A small victory, perhaps, but an important one. It proved that not everything reverted to its original state when the loop restarted. Some changes persisted, suggesting that his actions had lasting consequences—even if only on a microscopic scale.

Encouraged by this discovery, Eryndor decided to conduct another experiment. This time, he focused on the glowing runes. Returning to the tree where he'd first noticed them, he studied the symbols closely, committing their shapes and patterns to memory. Then, using a sharp rock he found nearby, he scratched a crude mark into the bark beside the runes—a simple line, nothing elaborate.

Once again, he provoked the wolves, allowing them to kill him. And once again, he woke up beneath the same tree, gasping for air as consciousness returned. Ignoring the lingering ache in his chest, he rushed to inspect the runes. His heart sank when he saw that the mark he'd made was gone, erased completely by the reset. The runes themselves, however, remained unchanged, pulsing softly in the dim light.

So, the loop didn't affect everything equally. Certain elements—like the mushrooms—were immune to its effects, while others—like his crude carving—were wiped clean with each iteration. The runes fell somewhere in between, existing outside the normal flow of time yet still tied to the cycle in some way.

Eryndor frowned, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed this information. The implications were staggering. If the runes were connected to the loop, then they might hold the key to understanding—and potentially breaking—it. But deciphering their meaning would require more than casual observation. He needed tools, resources, allies—things he currently lacked.

For now, though, he had enough to work with. The experiments had yielded valuable insights, proving that the loop operated according to specific rules. Rules he could exploit, given enough time and effort.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a sudden noise snapped him out of his reverie. It was faint, almost imperceptible—a soft rustling sound coming from somewhere nearby. Eryndor tensed, his instincts screaming at him to run. But instead of fleeing, he turned toward the source of the noise, his curiosity outweighing his fear.

Peering through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of movement—a flash of silver armor glinting in the dappled sunlight. Someone else was here.

Eryndor's breath hitched in his throat. Could it be another person trapped in the same nightmare? Or was this someone—or something—else entirely?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, ready to face whatever awaited him.