Termo suddenly woke up, as if something had pulled him from the depths of his sleep. His breaths came fast, his chest rising and falling violently, while his eyes darted anxiously through the darkness around him. For a moment, he didn't understand where he was. His mind was still trapped inside the dream, inside those voices that had whispered in his ear.
He tried to gather his thoughts slowly, but it felt as though his mind was drowning in a thick fog. Everything happening to him was more than he could bear.
He lifted his head slightly.
The sky above him was silver-gray, like a cold metal sheet hanging over the world. The forest around him was covered in a thick layer of snow, and the wind whispered through the trees with a distant, sorrowful cry.
The snow reached almost to the tips of his toes, soft yet heavy, each movement producing a faint scraping sound. The air was cruelly cold—the kind of cold that doesn't just sting the skin but slowly seeps into the bones.
Termo took a deep breath.
Then he smelled it.
The scent of dry firewood.
He slowly moved his eyes around and realized he wasn't in a cabin as he had first thought, but in a simple camp—some wood arranged for a fire, with frozen ash in the middle.
Next to the fire sat a man with a sword on his back. A little girl stood near him, watching Termo with concern.
The man said quietly,
"Finally, you're awake."
The moment he heard the voice, his expression changed. Everything seemed distant at first. "Ravan."
His body tensed completely. His nose caught the scent of the place, like the smell of a cabin—everything returning to that old scent still lingering in his memory. His heart began pounding violently.
"No… no…" he muttered to himself in a trembling voice.
The world around him began to blur. Memories of screams, blood, death, Mook, madness, Ravan—all came rushing back at once.
Suddenly, he lost his balance. He fell to the ground on his knees. His hands trembled as he tried to breathe, but the air felt heavy inside his chest, as if the forest itself were pressing on him.
The little girl stepped toward him.
But the man raised his hand to stop her.
Both of them watched Termo silently, their eyes full of sorrow.
Termo tried to stand. But he couldn't. Everything inside him was collapsing.
"No… no… no…" he said in a broken voice.
Then, suddenly, he rose and ran—running aimlessly through the trees. Snow flew beneath his feet, and his breaths came in ragged gasps in the cold air.
The man watched him for a moment, then sighed and started following—not to fight him, but just to make sure he wouldn't die in this forest.
After a short distance, though, he stopped, because Termo had vanished among the trees.
In that moment, inside the silent white forest, Termo ran as if fleeing from the entire world. Tears fell silently—not loud sobs, just cold drops freezing on his face before they hit the ground.
Anger pulsed within his chest with every heartbeat.
"Why…" he whispered in a broken voice.
"Why is all this happening to me?"
His running slowed, until he finally stopped. He fell to his knees in the snow. His breaths were heavy, mist rising in the cold air.
He lifted his head slowly.
In front of him stood a large mountain, covered in thick layers of frozen snow. And roughly in its middle… there was a small cave—a dark opening in the midst of whiteness.
Termo stood slowly, staring at it for several moments, then began walking toward it. Step… step… the snow groaning under his feet.
When he reached inside, the cave was cold and damp. Water dripped from the ceiling, melted from the snow above. The sound was rhythmic. A light mist filled the space.
The cold here was different—dry, heavy, as if the air itself were dead.
Termo sat down slowly, his back against the cave wall, then lowered his head. Everything inside him was broken. Mook was dead—the only person left for him, the one he had waited for throughout this journey, died before his eyes.
Suddenly, he felt as if his heart had become empty. There was nothing left. No purpose. No meaning. Only exhaustion. Immense exhaustion.
He closed his eyes. Time passed slowly in the cave. He didn't know how long—hours, maybe days.
When he opened his eyes again, night had fallen on the forest. The sky outside the cave was black, stars shining with a distant coldness.
Termo sat in silence. Then suddenly… he felt something. A strange feeling, as if someone was standing very close to him.
He lifted his head slowly. His eyes widened slightly, his heart beating once with force. Then he whispered softly,
"Mook…?"
There was no one. But the feeling was very real—close, as if someone stood right behind him.
Termo stood slowly inside the cave, his eyes scanning the darkness. His breathing slowed, and his heart began to beat differently—not in fear, but with a strange sensation, as if something from the past had returned to move again in this cold world.
Outside the cave, the wind howled through the trees.
Termo had brought a piece of a broken sleep mask, examining it with intense eyes. Behind it was a paper—he didn't know it yet, but it was a map. And on the back of the map was a message for Termo.
He closed the paper, breathing heavily, tension consuming him. He wanted to run, but he couldn't.
A voice returned to his head—a strange power inside him, as if someone supported him. Termo felt he was not alone; another presence was with him. A strange feeling overcame him.
Termo stared at the forest, closing his eyes, listening to the sounds—the air rustling between the trees, the music of the forest itself. A strange sensation turned it into a melody just for him. It was as if the forest itself knew something was about to begin anew, and Termo had to listen.