The sun rose, but the Black Forest swallowed it whole.
Warm golden light touched the storm-painted sky for only a breath before the towering trees consumed it, their shadows stretching long and heavy across the ash-covered ground. The leaves did not shimmer with dew. They shivered with cold. Every trunk carried thin silver veins beneath the bark, pulsing faintly like something alive was breathing under the wood. In the chaos of the storm of the past day, a nameless soul survived.
The air was still.
Too still.
As if even the wind refused to enter this place.
A soft groan broke the silence.
Alan's eyes fluttered open.
His breath escaped in a painful gasp, shaky and uneven, like his lungs had forgotten how to work. A sharp sting tore through his left arm the moment he tried to move. It wasn't the normal sting of a cut or bruise. This pain was deeper- like something inside him was being pulled apart, thread by thread.
He clutched his arm on instinct.
The wound glowed faintly.
A thin white light pulsed in the centre of the injury, soft but alive. Black veins spread outward like ink under his skin, branching like cracks in glass. Every pulse of the strange light made the veins twist, almost moving on their own.
"What… is this…?" Alan whispered.
His voice trembled, fragile, as if he wasn't used to hearing himself speak. His throat felt dry, dusted with ash. "Where… am I…?"
No answer. Only the low hum of the forest's breath.
He tried to think, tried to reach for a memory, even a small one. A name. A home. A face. Anything.
But his mind was a shattered mirror.
Every time he tried to hold a thought, it broke apart into space. He had nothing. No past. There is no sense of how he came here. Only pain, cold air, and a strange beat pulsing inside the wound.
"I… I can't remember…" His voice cracked. "Ah !"
Pain surged like fire. He curled forward, holding his arm tightly, waiting for the agony to fade. It didn't. It tore through his nerves, sharp enough to steal his breath.
He forced himself up, trembling.
Then he stopped.
A dead body lay beside him.
Not human.
The creature Alan killed lay beside him in the cold Black Frost. Its body was twisted, thin, and dry like old skin stretched over bones. Its mouth was still open, showing sharp black teeth, as if it tried to bite him even in its last moment.
Dark blood had leaked onto the ground and frozen into hard, cracked lines.
Small frost-ants were already all over the body. These tiny pale-blue ants crawled into its empty eyes, along its spine, and across its torn skin, eating the creature bit by bit. They worked fast and silently.
Alan stumbled backwards in fear.
His heart raced, pounding so hard he felt it in his ears. He pressed his back against a tree, trying to breathe, trying to understand.
"Did I do this?"
His chest tightened violently.
He felt sick.
"This place was wrong."
He didn't know where he was.
He didn't know who he was.
But one truth crashed through the fog in his mind
"This forest wants me dead."
The trees creaked softly as if shifting closer.
He forced himself to inhale, shaky but determined.
This place was dangerous. He didn't understand it. But staying here was a slow death. His instincts whispered, no, screamed, that he needed to move. Keep going. Keep breathing. Keep walking.
He could feel something watching him from deeper inside the forest. Something patient. Something waiting.
The thought chilled him more than the cold air.
Alan turned toward the dark path twisting between the silver-veined trees.
He didn't know where it led.
But staying was not an option.
He took a step.
Then another.
The forest soil crackled beneath his feet. Ash drifted with each step like tiny grey snowflakes.
His shadow stretched behind him…
Then shifted.
Moved.
Not with his steps.
Not with the wind.
As if it had its own breath.
Alan froze, turning slowly. His shadow stilled immediately, as if caught. But he had seen it. A flicker. A twitch. An independent motion, like something inside the darkness, had stirred awake.
A strange sense bloomed at the back of his mind. Not a memory- just a whisper, faint and soft, echoing from somewhere deep inside him.
A name.
Not spoken aloud, not remembered, but felt.
Alan West.
It was the only thing he knew for certain.
The one piece of truth his mind refused to lose.
He held onto it like a rope in the dark.
His breathing steadied.
Even if he remembered nothing else, he remembered himself.
That was enough… for now.
He walked deeper into the forest.
And the forest watched.
Time passed strangely under the silver canopy. Minutes felt like hours; hours felt like seconds. The trees pulsed softly, alive with quiet breath, and the ground was laced with twisting roots that felt warm under Alan's feet.
The air grew thicker the deeper he went.
He heard distant whispers, maybe wind, maybe not. The forest was wrong, twisted, and aware.
Alan kept moving.
He didn't have a choice.
His body was weak. His arm throbbed, burning with every step. Hunger coiled in his stomach like a tight fist. He needed water, food, shelter, anything. But the forest offered none.
Just endless dark.
Until-
"-No, no, NO! That's not how you do it! Stupid sword! WHY?!"
Alan froze instantly.
A voice.
A human voice.
His breath caught. His heart hammered so hard it hurt. The sound was so sharp, so alive… it almost didn't feel real.
He moved carefully, pushing aside a curtain of branches. The forest seemed to tremble as he stepped through, the air around him lightening suddenly as if he had crossed an invisible boundary.
A small clearing opened before him.
A young man stood at the centre, swinging a battered sword with wild energy but terrible form. His hair was a messy blonde. He was sticking up in every direction, and his face carried a stubborn, fiery expression.
He swung again- then stumbled, tripped over a root, and fell flat on his face.
Alan blinked twice.
The boy groaned into the ground.
"Don't just stand there," he muttered weakly. "Help me… or let me die in peace. Both work."
Alan hesitated.
Then he stepped forward and extended a hand.
The boy rolled over, grabbed Alan's hand, and sprang up with surprising energy.
"Thanks, mysterious forest stranger!" He dusted off his clothes dramatically. "I'm Edward. Defender of the innocent. Slayer of… uh…one rabbit. A small one. But it still counts."
Edward brushed the dust off his face.
"What's your name? Are you a traveller?"
Alan stared, speechless.
Edward leaned a bit closer, squinting.
"Whoa. You look like you fought ten monsters and lost to all of them."
Alan lowered his gaze.
Edward's playful tone softened.
"Hey… are you okay?"
Alan swallowed hard. His voice shook.
"My… name. It's… Alan. Alan West. And I'm lost here."
Edward's eyes widened a little.
"Alan, huh? Good. Names are important. You lost?"
He rested a hand on Alan's shoulder.
"You look like you're about to collapse. Come with me. I'll help."
Alan's chest tightened unexpectedly.
A stranger offering help… felt unreal.
Edward grinned suddenly.
"Also, you're terrifying. But in a cool way."
Alan blinked.
"…What?"
Edward laughed.
"Forget it. Let's go."
He grabbed Alan's arm gently and guided him toward the forest's edge.
And for the first time since waking up…
Alan didn't feel alone.
The forest began to change as they walked.
The silver veins on the trees dimmed, the roots thinned, and the air grew warmer but still strange, still heavy, but less haunting. Alan noticed the shift only because his body finally stopped trembling with cold.
Edward talked nonstop as they moved.
"So, Alan… you don't remember anything? Nothing? Not even what day it is?"
Alan "No."
"What about family?"
Alan lowered his eyes.
"…I don't know."
Edward looked at him softly.
"Wait… you remembered your name? How?"
Alan lowered his eyes.
"I… I really don't know. All I remember is that name… nothing else."
Edward slowed his pace slightly, studying him with unexpected seriousness. "That's… rough. I'd panic if I woke up without knowing who I was. Probably cry for two hours."
Alan said nothing.
Edward continued, waving his sword proudly.
"Don't worry, you're lucky you found me. I'm basically the strongest fighter in our village. Future guardian. People will sing songs about me."
Alan looked at the sword.
The blade was chipped.
The handle was wrapped in old cloth.
It looked like it survived too many bad decisions.
Edward noticed the stare and coughed.
"Well… I will be the strongest. Eventually. Soon. Probably."
Despite the pain in his arm, Alan felt the faintest tug of a smile.
Edward saw it instantly.
"There it is! A smile! That's progress. I accept this as proof that I'm an excellent guide."
The path widened, the trees spread apart, and sunlight finally touched Alan's skin. It felt warm- almost healing. His shadow stretched long behind him…
And twitched again.
Alan stiffened.
Edward noticed him stop.
"What's wrong?"
"…Nothing."
Because what could he even say?
My shadow moved by itself.
Edward would think he was insane.
They kept walking.
Soon, distant voices drifted through the trees- children laughing, women chatting, the rhythm of hammers striking wood. The ground changed from dark soil to soft earth decorated with tiny glowing mushrooms that flickered gently like small lanterns.
They stepped past the final line of trees and the world opened.
Alan's breath caught.
Before them lay a village built inside and around massive trees. Wooden walkways wrapped around trunks wider than houses. Lanterns hung from branches like suspended stars. Ropes and bridges connected platform to platform, glowing faintly from embedded crystals.
Children ran barefoot through the roots.
Men carried baskets filled with herbs and strange fruits.
Women sorted shimmering leaves that sparkled in the sunlight.
It felt alive.
Warm.
Full of quiet magic.
Edward spread his arms proudly.
"Welcome to Nareth Hollow! Edge village of Velmoria. Best place in the forest. Actually the only place in the forest where you won't die in ten seconds."
Alan stepped forward slowly, taking in everything with wide eyes.
The world was so big, so strange, and he felt so small inside it.
Edward nudged him.
"Relax. People here stare at strangers because they're curious, not because they want to throw rocks."
Sure enough, several villagers paused to look at Alan. His torn clothes, the wound on his arm, the ash coating his skin- he probably looked like he crawled out of a disaster.
Edward guided him toward a small house at the village's edge. The walls were built from smooth tree bark, the roof slanted and covered with soft moss. A faint smoke trail rose from the chimney.
Inside, the air was warm.
A woman lay on a straw bed, breathing shallowly. Her face was pale, and her hands trembled slightly each time she exhaled. - Meera.
Edward rushed to her side, gently adjusting the blanket around her.
"This is my mother…" he said quietly. His usual energy faded into something softer. "She's been sick for months. I'm training to protect her. And everyone else. I'll get strong enough. I swear."
Alan watched silently.
Edward cleared his throat softly.
"Mother… there's someone I want you to meet."
The woman's eyes fluttered open- weak, but warm. She turned her head slightly, focusing on Alan as he stepped closer.
"This is Alan," Edward said, his voice hesitating. "He-he is…A friend."
Alan lowered his head respectfully.
Meera's lips curved into the faintest smile.
Edward gently held his mother's hand.
"Mother… Alan he… he lost everything.
Meera's eyes opened slowly, sad curiosity touching her face.
Edward continued, voice trembling just a little.
"He lost his home… his family. He doesn't have anyone left. Not even a friend."
He glanced at Alan, then back at her.
"So… I invited him here. To our house. Mother, do you..."
Before he could finish, Meera's weak fingers curled around his face.
She turned her gaze to Alan gentle, welcoming, almost motherly despite her frail state.
"You are welcome here, child. As long as you need."
Alan stiffened, not expecting those words.
For a moment, he couldn't speak. The warmth in her eyes felt unfamiliar… almost painful.
Edward smiled, relieved.
Alan lowered his head, whispering,
"…Thank you."
Meera's gaze softened further. "If my son trusts you… that is special enough."
Edward rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Mother…"
For a moment, her eyes drifted between the two boys, her son trying to be strong, and the silent stranger standing beside him.
A strange feeling stirred in Alan something like recognition, empathy, or maybe the ghost of a forgotten memory. He didn't understand it, but it felt familiar, like a piece of himself he didn't know how to reach.
Edward stood up again, rubbing his eyes quickly before turning back with a forced smile.
He rummaged through a wooden box and pulled out folded clothes, simple black cloth, clean and smooth.
"These are for you. Your clothes are… kind of haunted-looking."
Alan looked down at himself.
Edward wasn't wrong.
He took the clothes gratefully.
Inside the hut's small side room, he changed.
The fabric was oddly comfortable.
Soft, but strong.
He felt… protected, grounded. Like the clothes were meant for him.
A strange warmth pulsed around his chest, as the outfit recognised him too.
He stepped back into the main room.
Edward snapped his fingers.
"Perfect! Now you look less like a forest ghost."
Alan gave a small nod.
Edward grinned.
"Hungry?"
Alan nodded again, lighter this time.
Edward handed him a small woven basket filled with warm bread and sweet-smelling herbs. Alan ate slowly at first, then faster, realising he hadn't tasted food since… since
His mind hit another wall.
Empty.
Hollow.
Edward didn't push. He just sat near him, sword across his lap, tapping the blade gently like a habit he'd done for years.
When the meal was finished, the silence between them felt calmer. Not heavy. Not uncomfortable.
Evening fell.
The village lit lanterns shaped like hanging fireflies. The golden glow washed through the trees, making everything look warm and alive.
Alan sat by the window.
A soft tapping sound made him glance down.
A feather lay on the sill.
Black as midnight.
Sharp. Smooth.
Shining with an impossibly faint pulse of energy like a heartbeat.
Alan slowly reached out.
The moment his fingers touched it, the feather glowed softly.
Responding.
Choosing.
Alan's breath stopped.
Edward, who was polishing his sword nearby, froze.
"Uh… Alan? Feathers don't glow. Especially not the black ones. Those are… special."
Alan didn't move.
Edward stepped closer, eyes wide.
"Feathers don't choose people… unless something out there is watching you."
The feather felt warm in Alan's hand.
He didn't know why, but he felt connected to it deeply, strangely, like it was a piece of something lost.
His shadow twitched gently behind him.
Edward saw nothing. But Alan felt everything. He put the feather safely inside his pocket.
A New Beginning
Morning arrived with soft golden light.
Villagers moved through the walkways, carrying baskets and calling out greetings. A soft wind carried the scent of sweet fruit and burning herbs.
Edward stretched lazily.
"Alright, today's big. I'm taking you to the elder."
Alan blinked. "The… elder?"
Edward nodded.
"Oldest man in the village. He knows a lot. He knows about weird things. He might know why you were in the Black Forest. Or why you look like you fell from the sky."
Alan didn't know what to expect, but something in his chest tightened with hope.
They stepped out into the village.
Children stopped playing when they saw Alan, staring with wide eyes until Edward waved them off.
One small girl whispered, "Is he a warrior?"
Another boy whispered back, "No, he looks cursed."
Alan looked away.
Edward nudged him gently.
"They're kids. Ignore them."
They walked deeper into Nareth Hollow.
The village's true beauty unfolded:
Bridges wrapped around glowing tree trunks,
Small waterfalls poured from wooden pipes crafted from roots, Floating orbs of light drifted in the air, bobbing like curious fireflies,
Carved symbols shimmered faintly on the ground.
Every corner felt alive.
Every sound felt meaningful.
Alan felt tiny in this world of magic and light.
But at the same time…
something deep inside him stirred.
A sense of belonging.
A pull.
A whisper.
His name echoed again in his mind, soft but firm
Alan West.
He didn't know the path ahead.
But he knew this was only the beginning.
Alan whispered to himself, "Who is this Alan West?"