In a long, ancient forest—deep and untouched, where the trees stretched tall enough to scrape the clouds and the earth smelled of rain and roots—a small boy sat slumped against the bark of a twisted, sturdy tree near a pond. The pond looked unnatural, almost carved by the hand of chaos itself, like a gaping footprint left behind by a long-passed storm. It wasn't peaceful, not at first glance, but there was a certain serenity to it—a quietness, as if the world had exhaled and paused right here.
Rony was that boy. Alone, unarmed, unready. A stray child dropped into the middle of an enchanted forest, without guidance, without a weapon, without even a clear idea of what lay beyond the curtain of leaves and mist. He had no guards. No system interface glowing beside him. Just his body, still weak from everything, and his eyes closed in a sleep so deep it felt like the forest had cradled him in its mossy arms.
The wind breezed gently through the trees, weaving through the high branches like threads through a loom. It came down softly, brushing against Rony's skin. It didn't sting. It caressed. Like a lullaby played on invisible strings, the air moved across his hair, tousling it like a mother comforting a child. There was something tender in the way it passed through him, as if the forest itself had chosen to protect this small boy who slept like there would be no tomorrow.
Time flowed like the slow drip of dew from the leaves.
Three hours passed, and gradually, life stirred in Rony's limbs. His fingers twitched. His legs stretched out slowly, and his eyes blinked open, meeting the filtered sunlight through a canopy of green and gold. He yawned, long and soft, and pushed himself upright with a groggy breath. Standing, he arched his back in a full-body stretch, letting out another long breath that seemed to cleanse his entire being.
Then, with a calm, focused motion, he turned his head slightly.
And he looked straight at us.
"Now," he said, his voice soft but certain, "shall we continue?"
The moment felt surreal. As though he had always known he was part of something bigger. A story. A world with eyes behind it. Readers. Watchers. Observers.
He made his way to the pond again and knelt beside it. The water, still clear, mirrored his expression—half exhausted, half curious. He cupped his hands and drank deeply. It was cold, shockingly so, and every gulp made him feel more awake. More real. Like his body, weak as it was, had found fuel in the most basic form. Water. Life.
He drank until he could drink no more, then splashed some on his face. Droplets scattered across his cheeks and neck, chilling and invigorating him. He stood again, and this time, there was purpose in his movement. Something had shifted.
"To this world," he murmured, unsure if he was speaking to us or himself, "let's start the journey."
From his satchel, he summoned the earbuds. Sleek and matte black, they appeared with a small pulse of energy in his hand. They weren't just for music. He now understood their true purpose—they could pick up nearby sounds, scan magical fluctuations, and even alert him to dangerous creatures lurking too close.
He placed them in his ears and waited.
And then, he listened.
Not to music, not to anything human-made. He listened to the forest.
And the forest listened back.
The wind came from every direction. It spun and twisted around the trees, danced between ferns, and carried with it whispers of things unseen. Rony stuck out his tongue slightly, like a predator testing the air. From the right, he tasted salt. Just a hint. Barely there.
His eyes flicked in that direction. The trees leaned toward something. Their trunks curved slightly, like they were bowing.
He smiled.
With a quiet nod, he began to walk.
Each step was cautious. The ground was uneven, thick with roots and patches of moss. His shoes were barely suited for hiking, and his legs weren't built for this yet. He knew. This wasn't Earth. Here, even a bug bite might kill him. This was a world governed by magic and chaos. Every sound mattered. Every shadow could hold teeth.
And yet, he wasn't afraid. Not anymore.
He walked on.
The trees fascinated him. Some were tall and straight, like guardians of old. Others twisted in surreal patterns, their branches curling like spirals to reach the sun. Vines clung to their sides, draped in patterns like nature's jewelry. One tree was hollowed in the center, but still alive—green leaves bursting from its crown.
The light filtered in shafts of gold through the canopy, turning everything into a dreamscape. The deeper he walked, the more surreal it became. It didn't feel like just a forest. It felt like something sacred. Ancient. A living cathedral built by time and magic.
He found himself running his hands across bark, feeling the different textures—rough, smooth, sticky with sap. He touched leaves, marveling at how some were soft as silk, while others crackled with energy beneath his fingers.
Then, realization struck.
His body wasn't normal.
It moved awkwardly. His legs stumbled sometimes. His arms felt light. Weak. Like they belonged to someone who had never done anything physical in his life. It was like being reborn. Every movement felt new. Like muscle memory had been erased.
He sighed and chuckled.
"My brain still thinks like a mature kid," he said aloud to the trees. "Guess the hormones haven't caught up. Typical."
Even here, even now, he joked. Because what else could he do?
He continued walking, letting the wind guide him. The buds in his ears stayed silent, but occasionally, they pulsed faintly—scanning, sensing. He trusted them.
Then, he saw something.
Golden light.
It flickered through the trees ahead. Not the soft gold of sunlight. Something deeper. Richer. It looked like a river of light had spilled through the branches.
He ran.
He couldn't help it. His feet moved before he thought. He ducked under branches, jumped over roots. He laughed, a small, genuine sound, bouncing through the air.
He ran toward the golden glow, heart beating faster with each step. The trees grew wider apart. The grass glowed beneath him. He leapt through the final set of trees and—
Stopped.
The light surrounded him.
It was like being inside a dream. Everything was gold. The trees. The water. Even the air shimmered. It wasn't just light—it was warmth, magic, memory. It felt like being wrapped in a childhood memory he didn't know he had.
He stood there, arms slightly apart, mouth open.
He didn't know what this place was. Or what it meant.
But for the first time since waking up in this world, he felt something clear.
Wonder.
And wonder, he decided, was a good place to begin.
....
This chapter is special to me. It's a quiet moment, but also a turning point.
Rony, our precious protagonist, isn't a warrior yet. He's just a small boy with a fragile heart, dropped into a world as beautiful as it is dangerous. This world doesn't wait for him to catch up—it moves, it breathes, and it tests him. But what makes him different is not his strength. It's his choice to smile despite the weight he carries.
When he sits under that tree, when the wind brushes past him like a gentle lullaby, when he drinks from the pond and talks to you, the reader—those are not just actions. That's his way of telling us: I'm still here. I'm still trying.
The forest in this chapter isn't just a setting—it's a metaphor. Towering trees, glowing light, and unknown dangers all reflect the inner journey Rony is walking through. It's raw. It's calm and overwhelming at once. Just like life.
I hope this chapter gave you a moment to breathe, like it did for him. If it moved you in any way, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Your words reach me more than you know.
And if you want to see Rony's journey grow, if you want to support this story—don't forget to leave a Power Stone. Each one helps this world bloom brighter and reminds me that someone out there is waiting for the next step Rony takes.
Let's keep walking this path together.
—With a quiet smile,
Author