Chapter 3: Testing the Boundaries  

Eryndor hesitated for only a moment before pushing through the dense underbrush, his heart pounding in his chest. The glint of silver armor had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him with nothing but the faint rustling sound to guide him. His mind raced with possibilities. Was this another trick of the forest, some illusion meant to lure him deeper into its labyrinthine grasp? Or was it real—a person, perhaps even someone who could explain what was happening to him?

He moved cautiously now, his earlier recklessness tempered by caution. Each step crunched softly against the mossy ground, and he winced at every sound, half-expecting the wolves or worse to emerge from the shadows. But the forest remained eerily silent, save for the distant drip of water and the occasional creak of branches swaying overhead.

The rustling grew louder as he approached, leading him to a narrow clearing surrounded by thickets of brambles. There, standing with her back to him, was a figure clad in worn but functional armor. Her posture was relaxed yet alert, one hand resting casually on the hilt of a sword strapped to her hip. She knelt beside a cluster of herbs, carefully plucking leaves and placing them into a small satchel.

"Who are you?" Eryndor called out, his voice steady despite the unease prickling at the edges of his thoughts. 

The figure froze mid-motion, then slowly rose to her feet. When she turned to face him, Eryndor found himself staring into sharp, calculating eyes framed by a cascade of dark hair streaked with dirt and sweat. Her expression was guarded, her fingers twitching slightly toward her weapon.

"I should ask you the same," she replied, her tone clipped but not hostile. "What are you doing here?"

Eryndor opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. How could he possibly explain his situation without sounding insane? Instead, he settled for something simpler. "I… woke up here. I don't know how I got here or why."

Her brow furrowed, skepticism etched across her features. "You woke up here? In the Blackveil Forest? That's impossible."

"The Blackveil Forest?" Eryndor echoed, the name sending a shiver down his spine. It fit—the oppressive atmosphere, the unnatural stillness, the glowing runes—it all screamed of something ancient and cursed.

"Yes," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "This place is known for swallowing people whole. No one just 'wakes up' here unless they're already dead—or wish they were."

Eryndor flinched at her words, though he wasn't sure why. Something about them resonated too deeply, stirring memories that weren't quite there yet. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but I'm not lying. I woke up here, and—"

"And what?" she interrupted, her gaze narrowing. "You expect me to believe your story?"

"No," Eryndor shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't care if you believe me or not. All I know is that this place isn't normal, and I need answers."

For a long moment, the woman studied him, her piercing eyes scanning his face as if searching for cracks in his resolve. Finally, she sighed and relaxed her stance, though her hand never strayed far from her sword. "Fine. Let's say I believe you. What makes you think I have any answers?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Eryndor countered. "That means you either know something about this place, or you're just as lost as I am."

A flicker of amusement crossed her face, quickly replaced by a mask of indifference. "Fair point. My name's Liora Veyne. And you are?"

"Eryndor," he replied, deciding against offering more detail. "Just Eryndor."

"Well, Just Eryndor," Liora said dryly, "if you're looking for answers, you're probably going to be disappointed. This forest doesn't give up its secrets easily."

Before Eryndor could respond, a low growl rippled through the air, freezing them both in place. Liora's hand shot to her sword, drawing it in one fluid motion. Eryndor instinctively stepped back, his muscles tensing as the familiar red glow of wolf-like eyes materialized in the shadows surrounding the clearing.

"Stay close," Liora ordered, her voice calm but firm. "These things are fast, and they don't play fair."

Eryndor nodded, though his mind was racing. He didn't need to fight—not when he knew dying wouldn't kill him. Still, he couldn't let Liora risk herself while he stood idly by. As the first creature lunged, Eryndor grabbed a fallen branch from the ground, wielding it like a makeshift weapon. Together, they formed a loose circle, their backs pressed together as the pack closed in.

Liora moved with practiced precision, her blade flashing in the dim light as she cut down two of the beasts in quick succession. Eryndor swung his branch wildly, managing to fend off one attacker before another tackled him to the ground. Claws raked across his chest, and pain exploded through his body. For a brief moment, panic surged within him—what if this time was different? What if the loop didn't reset?

But then darkness claimed him, and everything went silent.

---

When Eryndor opened his eyes again, he was unsurprised to find himself back beneath the tree where he'd awoken twice before. He sat up slowly, checking his surroundings. Everything was exactly as it had been—the glowing runes, the moss-covered roots, the oppressive stillness of the forest. Except now, he had new information—and a potential ally.

Standing, Eryndor replayed the encounter in his mind. Liora hadn't seemed particularly surprised by the wolves, which suggested she'd encountered them before. More importantly, she'd mentioned knowing about the forest's reputation. If anyone could shed light on its mysteries, it was her.

Determined to reconnect with her, Eryndor retraced his steps to the clearing where they'd fought. Sure enough, Liora was still there, kneeling beside the same patch of herbs. She glanced up as he approached, her expression unreadable.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," she said, rising to her feet. "Most people don't come back after being mauled by those things."

"I told you—I woke up here," Eryndor replied, meeting her gaze evenly. "And apparently, dying doesn't stick."

Liora's eyes widened slightly, surprise breaking through her stoic demeanor. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Every time I die, I wake up back at the beginning. Same spot, same tree, same glowing symbols." He gestured toward the runes carved into the nearby trunk. "Whatever this place is, it's messing with me."

For a moment, Liora simply stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "Well, that explains a lot."

"What does it explain?" Eryndor demanded, frustration creeping into his voice. "Do you know something about this?"

"Maybe," Liora admitted, her tone cautious. "There are legends about a place like this—cursed forests where time bends and reality fractures. People call it the Veil, a boundary between worlds. Some say it's a prison for those who've angered the gods. Others claim it's a testing ground, designed to break the spirit."

"And the glowing runes?" Eryndor pressed, gesturing toward the tree again.

"They're markers," Liora explained. "Signs of power embedded in the land itself. They're tied to old magic—magic most people thought was lost centuries ago."

Eryndor frowned, absorbing her words. "So, you're saying this forest is alive? That it's actively manipulating me?"

"In a way, yes," Liora replied. "But there's more to it than that. The Veil doesn't just trap people—it changes them. Forces them to confront their fears, their regrets, their deepest desires. Whatever brought you here, it's no accident."

Eryndor felt a chill run down his spine. "Then how do I get out?"

Liora hesitated, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "That's the question everyone asks. And the answer is always the same: survive long enough to find out."

Before Eryndor could respond, a sudden tremor shook the ground beneath their feet. The glowing runes flared brightly, their light pulsing erratically. From the shadows beyond the clearing, a deep, guttural roar echoed through the forest, sending waves of dread coursing through Eryndor's veins.

"We need to move," Liora said urgently, grabbing his arm. "Now."

Without waiting for a response, she pulled him into the trees, her movements swift and deliberate. Eryndor followed, his mind racing. Whatever was coming, it was bigger—and far more dangerous—than the wolves.