Three days and three nights, I walked, under the sun’s glare and moon’s watch, through endless plains and the whispering winds of Solmork. I pressed forward with no reprieve. The meager handful of nuts I had packed was long depleted. Hunger gnawed at my ribs, yet I persisted. The journey had been long, arduous—but worthy.

  At last, I stood before the threshold of the Forest of Hallucination.

  It stood before me, an eerie grandeur unfurling in its depths. It bore no blossoms, no riot of color. Only green—a deep, unfathomable green that stretched into eternity. The hills I once admired seemed insignificant now.

  The forest was aptly named. It twisted perceptions, bent time into an ungraspable wraith. I breathed in the scent of damp earth and moss-laden bark, steadying myself as I crossed its boundary.

  "This is within reason." I muttered, stepping into its embrace.

  Two hours passed—or so I believed. No shifts in light, no distortions of space. Had time already unraveled? I clenched my fists, willing my mind to remain my own. Then, as if awakened by my thoughts, I heard voices.

  There were as many whispers as there were trees, rustling like leaves in a phantom wind. It was the trees.

  “She is one of them.”

  “Do not make it more difficult.”

  “The daughter of the one who cut me.”

  “Her journey will—”

  The words melted into nothingness as my gaze was drawn to a creature among the trees.

  A dragon.

  A winged creature with pink scales, its white horns gleaming under the muted light. It did not move; its breath came in ragged huffs, its body lost within the forest’s hallucinations. The dragon was trapped in hallucination—yet I saw it. That meant I wasn’t hallucinating. But why?

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  My chest tightened. This was real. The trees were not mere decorations of the land—they spoke, they watched.

  Yet I had no time for marvels. My provisions had run dry. I had a choice: to wither in hunger or consume poisonous meat.

  The Edel did not consume the flesh of beasts. They pitied them, regarded them as remnants of a forsaken era. Not a single book in the Library of Whispers had dared to detail the dragon’s flesh. But it did give me knowledge on the weakness of the dragon: its underbelly and eyes.

  I was no longer bound by the doctrines of my past.

  Thus, I chose the latter.

  I unsheathed my dagger. The steel gleamed for only a moment before sinking into the soft underbelly of the beast.

  A sickening warmth spilled over me.

  Blood—thick, dark, and reeking of iron—drenched my skin, my clothes, my very soul. My breath hitched, my stomach twisted. For a moment, my mind was utterly blank. I staggered back, breath hitching.

  Then came the bile. I turned away, retching until my throat burned.

  The blood wasn’t poisonous; therefore, the meat wasn’t either. I gave in to hunger since starvation was the greater cruelty.

  I carved the flesh into small, careful pieces and set forth in search of a pine tree. The forest yielded no water, no relief. I couldn't wash away the blood that clung to me.

  With gathered wood and a flickering match, the flames roared to life, roasting the raw meat. The first bite was an abomination, an act against all I had observed.

  Yet it was edible. And it was out of my own volition.

  Dusk had long settled by the time I forced myself to rise. The fire had dwindled, casting feeble embers upon the earth. I exhaled, calculating the distance yet to be covered.

  “Four hours more,” I murmured.

  I walked. The whispers faded, but their weight lingered.

  The night stretched, endless and consuming, yet I did not falter. When at last I stepped beyond the forest’s grasp, a sigh left my lips.

  The Land of Boshaft.

  "It took me an hour longer to reach." I mumbled. It was past midnight. The air carried the scent of stone and dust, remnants of an empire that had long forgotten mercy. Yet, the stars were dazzling.

  Even as exhaustion clawed at my limbs, the thought of belonging—truly belonging—kept me moving. The citadel ruin lay two hours ahead. Pulling my cloak around me, I concealed the evidence of my deed, though it was doubtful anyone here would recoil at the sight of blood. Let’s just say, I wasn’t hiding it to frighten someone—just didn’t want to make a scene.

  A new life awaited.