DaoistYddFra

Life can push you to the age of insanity,.A brief glimpse into Errin’s Journey and The Forgotten Valley.

Errin, a man of unknown origins, stumbles upon The Forgotten Valley, a place of profound mystery, where time moves differently, and reality bends like a dream. Drawn in by its untouched beauty and the simple life it offers, he soon finds himself entwined with its people, its customs, and a woman who binds him to the valley in ways he never anticipated. As he fathers children, his role transforms from an outsider to an integral part of the valley’s hidden truths.

But The Forgotten Valley is not just a place—it is an enigma. A world that exists between existence and illusion, where time can stretch a century into a fortnight. Errin lives through lifetimes, experiencing the joys of family, the serenity of nature, and the burden of questions that have no answers. His children grow into extraordinary beings, drawn into powerful sects beyond the valley, where cultivation, trials, and the fate of entire bloodlines are decided by strength.

Yet, a lingering uncertainty remains. Is The Forgotten Valley a sanctuary or a prison? Is his life there real, or merely a fleeting dream? When he finally leaves the valley, time reveals its cruel hand—only twelve years have passed in the outside world, while he has lived for over a century within (144year). Doubt consumes him. Was it all an illusion?

As he nears the end of his life, longing for the valley but unable to return, he entrusts the journey to his sons. Three set out, but only one succeeds. That son finds the valley changed—vast, filled with countless souls living in quiet harmony. His experience mirrors but does not replicate his father’s. And in the end, when Errin dies, he wakes once more… Was The Forgotten Valley real, or was it simply a dream too vivid to forget? Is life real, a dream or a mirror of domething else?

join me and lets walk the journey of ERRIN the outsider

ERRIN THE OUTSIDER

Chapter 9: The Name Beneath the Silence

The valley's peace was an illusion. Errin could feel it now, woven into the fabric of the land like an old story forgotten by those who had stopped listening. He had believed himself a traveler, an outsider passing through, but the weight pressing against his chest told him otherwise.

Something in this valley knew him. And worse—it had always known.

As the days passed, Errin found himself avoiding the storyteller, avoiding the tree, avoiding the places where the valley felt too silent, as if waiting for him to speak first. He busied himself with simple tasks—gathering firewood, helping repair a broken fence, drinking by the fire at night with the men who had welcomed him without question.

One evening, as the last light of day bled into the horizon, he found himself standing by the river's edge. The water moved lazily over smooth stones, reflecting the sky in shades of amber and violet. He crouched down, staring at his own reflection.

His reflection rippled, but the water was still.

His breath caught. The man from his vision. The blue robes. The unreadable gaze.

Errin's heart pounded as the figure's lips moved, forming words that never reached his ears. He strained to hear—

The river was just a river again. His own face stared back at him, pale and shaken.

Errin pushed himself back, stumbling to his feet. His hands trembled. His head throbbed.

Without thinking, he turned and walked toward the storyteller's hut. He had spent days running from the truth, but he could not ignore it any longer.

By the time he reached her door, night had fully settled. A lantern flickered inside, casting shadows along the walls. He hesitated for only a moment before stepping in.

The old woman was already waiting.

"You're ready to ask," she said simply.

She studied him carefully, then nodded. Rising, she motioned for him to follow.

Together, they stepped outside, walking toward the farthest edge of the village, where the valley stretched endlessly into the unknown. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the scent of something ancient—earth, stone, time itself.

At last, they stopped before a narrow path that wound into the cliffs beyond.

"This place was not meant to keep you," the storyteller said. "It was meant to help you remember."

The wind whispered through the trees. The valley seemed to hold its breath.

The storyteller met his gaze, her expression solemn.

And with those words, the silence broke.

Chapter 9: The Name Beneath The Silence.