Edward led Alan toward the upper platforms of Nareth Hollow. The wooden path spiralled upward around a colossal tree whose bark shimmered faintly in the daylight. Its roots were thick enough to form natural steps, and its branches stretched across the sky like a giant's arms.
As they climbed, Alan noticed how the forest's energy felt different here. Warmer. Brighter. Less oppressive than the Black Forest. Yet beneath the calm surface… something hummed.
Something old.
Something watching.
His wounded arm throbbed faintly as if reacting to the air.
Edward glanced back.
"You okay?"
Alan nodded. "Just… dizzy."
"Yeah, that happens the first time. This tree is connected to the land around us. People say it can sense visitors. Maybe even judge them. Kind of creepy, but it keeps us safe."
Alan didn't answer.
Because the tree didn't feel like it was judging him.
It felt like it was recognizing him.
After a long climb, they reached a wooden platform built directly into the tree's side. A low railing circled the edge, and wind brushed softly through hanging charms made of bark, bone, and glowing thread.
An elder sat cross-legged beneath the branches.
He was thin, white-haired, with long eyebrows that swayed in the wind. His skin was lined with age, but his eyes deep green were sharp as blades.
Edward nudged Alan forward.
"This is Elder Renfar. Be respectful. He knows everything. Well… most things."
Alan bowed his head slightly.
The elder raised one eyebrow.
"Memory loss. A cursed wound. And the scent of the Black Forest still clinging to you…" His voice was low and steady, almost too calm. "You are not an ordinary boy."
Alan's breath caught.
"H-How did you—?"
"Sit," Renfar ordered gently.
Alan obeyed.
Edward sat too, leaning forward eagerly.
The elder placed two fingers on the wood beneath him. Thin lines of green light spread outward like cracks in the ground, then circled Alan before slowly fading.
Renfar opened his eyes.
"Your wound is alive."
Alan stiffened.
Edward nearly fell forward. "Alive?! Like it can talk?!"
"Not alive in that way," Renfar sighed. "It reacts. It responds. It is connected to something deeper… a force that should not exist in a normal human."
Alan looked at his arm.
The wound pulsed faintly under the bandage.
"I don't understand."
"You will." The elder's eyes narrowed. "But not now."
A cold breeze swept through the platform.
Alan felt his throat tighten.
"I didn't choose this," he whispered.
Renfar's expression softened slightly.
"No one chooses fate. But they face it all the same."
Silence fell.
Wind rustled through the leaves above them, scattering tiny sparks of sunlight across the platform. Edward stared at Alan with wide, unsure eyes, as if seeing him differently.
Renfar rose slowly.
"There is much to understand. Much to fear. But for now, Edward take him home. He needs rest. Tomorrow, bring him again."
Edward nodded quickly. "Yes, Elder!"
Alan stood as well.
But as he turned to leave, the elder spoke one final sentence. One that sent a strange chill through Alan's spine:
"Your shadow does not belong to the world you see."
Alan froze.
"…What?"
Renfar didn't repeat himself.
Edward pulled him gently by the arm.
"Come on. He's always cryptic like that. If he explained everything directly, his jaw would break."
But Alan could not shake the elder's words.
His shadow…
Did not belong?
He glanced down.
The shadow stretched behind him across the wooden floor. Normal, Silent, Still.
But when he turned away for half a second, only he saw it lift its head.
Watching him.
He stumbled.
Edward caught him.
"Hey! Careful!"
Alan forced himself to breathe.
Maybe it was just exhaustion.
Maybe it was the wound.
Maybe he was losing his mind.
But deep inside…
He knew the elder was right. Something inside him was not normal. And it was waking up.
Return to the Village
Edward led him down the spiralling path again. As they descended, the sounds of village life grew louder, children laughing, water rushing from the small waterfalls, merchants calling out prices. The peaceful noise soothed Alan, grounding him in the present.
By the time they reached Edward's hut, the sun was already leaning westward, turning the sky pale orange.
Edward's mother slept quietly.
Edward placed a damp cloth on her forehead, adjusting her blanket like he had done a thousand times. He didn't speak, but Alan could see the worry in his eyes.
"How long… has she been sick?" Alan asked softly.
"A while," Edward whispered. "No cure yet. But she keeps fighting. She's strong."
Alan nodded.
Strength wasn't always loud.
Sometimes it was silent, hidden, steady.
Alan understood that- instinctively.
Edward turned back with a grin, trying to hide his worry.
"Anyway! Today you didn't die. Good job."
Alan didn't know whether to smile or be confused, but Edward laughed anyway.
Night fell again.
Alan sat outside the hut, staring at the dark forest lines in the distance. The Black Forest looked calm from here- quiet, unmoving but he knew what lived inside its shadows.
The creature he killed.
The wound that glowed.
The voice he couldn't remember.
The shadow that moved.
Everything was connected.
He looked up at the glowing lights of the village lanterns. Their warm glow reflected in his dark eyes, steady and soft.
Edward walked out and sat beside him, tossing him a small fruit.
"You're thinking too much," Edward said. "It makes your face look… deadly."
Alan blinked. "Deadly?"
"Yeah, like you're planning how to defeat a dragon."
Alan stared at the fruit.
"…What's a dragon?"
Edward gasped dramatically.
"You really did lose your memory! That's tragic. Dragons are big fire lizards. Legendary creatures. Very cool. Very deadly. Probably extinct."
Alan nodded slowly.
Edward leaned back on his hands.
"You'll learn everything again. Piece by piece. I'll help. You'll see."
Alan studied him for a moment.
"You barely know me," Alan said softly.
Edward shrugged. "You looked lost. And scared. And alone. So I helped. That's all."
Alan couldn't respond.
Because deep in his heart…
He felt something warm shift. Something like gratitude. Something like the first thread of hope.
The Night that Watches
Later that night, Alan lay on the wooden floor near the window, covered by a light blanket Edward insisted he use. The village quieted, lanterns flickering softly in the breeze.
But Alan couldn't sleep.
The wound pulsed faintly, glowing through the bandage like a dim light beneath his skin.
He touched it gently.
"What are you…?" he whispered.
The wind whispered back.
Outside, the forest rustled.
The black feather in his pocket vibrated softly barely noticeable, but alive enough to make Alan sit up.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
A soft, distant voice carried by the wind.
Impossible to understand.
But calling him.
He stood slowly.
His shadow stretched long across the wooden floor… and curled upward at the edges like smoke.
Alan's heartbeat quickened. He stepped outside the hut. The village was silent. Only moonlight moved. The feather pulsed again. Then a distant howl cut through the night.
Not a normal animal's cry. Not a wolf. Not a beast he knew.
Something deeper.
Something ancient.
Something searching.
His wounded arm throbbed sharply as if answering the sound. Alan leaned against the wooden rail, breathing hard.
"Why… me?" he whispered into the dark. "Why this?"
No answer came.
But somewhere behind him, deep in the forest, something stirred.
Something that recognised him.
Something that waited for him. Something that wanted him back.
He shivered and backed away from the edge.
The wound dimmed slowly, almost asleep now.
Alan returned inside and sat by the window until sunrise, unable to shake the feeling that the forest had marked him…
And that this was only the beginning.
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilt over the village again.
Edward burst into the hut with an excited grin.
"Alan! Today is sword training. You're joining me!"
Alan blinked. "What?"
"Yep! You'll train. Elder's orders. And my dream is to become the greatest fighter ever. So you're stuck with me until you get strong enough not to die."
Alan rubbed his eyes. "I can't even remember yesterday."
Edward clapped his back.
"Perfect! That means you can't complain. Let's go!"
Alan couldn't argue.
The feather pulsed softly in his pocket.
His shadow slid quietly behind him.
The wound burned faintly with every heartbeat.
And as he followed Edward onto the training field…
Alan knew without understanding why.
Edward walked ahead with a wooden sword slung across his shoulder, humming some off-key tune. Alan followed slowly behind him, his wounded arm wrapped tightly, his steps uneven.
The field was already alive, young trainees swinging at practice dummies, elders giving instructions, laughter scattering through the air like pebbles skipping on water.
The moment Alan stepped onto the field, the noise softened.
Eyes turned.
Voices whispered.
Then came the first snicker.
"Look. The cursed boy came to train."
Someone else laughed, louder this time.
"And he brought Edward. Two weaklings together."
Edward tried to pretend he didn't hear it. Alan didn't pretend- he simply lowered his gaze, swallowing the weight in his chest. The throbbing in his arm made him clench his teeth.
They walked forward anyway.
Edward pointed toward a wooden dummy.
Its surface shimmered faintly, reacting to the morning light.
"Okay!" he announced proudly. "This is our battlefield."
He grabbed a wooden sword, spun it once…
And almost dropped it. The boys nearby burst into laughter.
"Nice grip, hero!"
Edward grinned, completely unfazed.
"Hey, I'm getting better. Last week I threw the sword at a tree by accident."
Alan blinked. "…You threw it?"
"With passion," Edward corrected.
People laughed again but this time, not at him. With him.
Edward had that strange ability. He looked like a fool, but he didn't care. And somehow, that made him impossible to break.
Alan wished he had even a piece of that.
"Your turn," Edward said, handing him a wooden sword.
Alan hesitated before gripping it. It felt heavier than it should. The wood pressed uncomfortably against his bandage. When he stepped toward the dummy, several trainees stepped back, as if he carried a disease.
One muttered.
"Stay away from his shadow. It's wrong."
Alan heard them.
He always heard them.
He lifted the sword anyway and swung-
The blade tapped harmlessly against the dummy.
More whispers.
"He moves like a corpse."
"Pathetic."
"Why is he even here?"
Alan's muscles trembled. His breath came unevenly. His arm burned with a slow fire. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad.
He just felt… empty.
A broken light is trying to shine through dust.
A small stone rolled across his foot.
One boy had kicked it at him.
Edward stepped forward not boldly, just annoyed.
"If you've got time to throw rocks, you've got time to train," he said.
They rolled their eyes.
No one feared Edward.
No one respected Alan.
But Edward still stood beside him.
That was enough.
Alan tried again, raising the sword. His hand shook. His swing barely moved the air.
His shadow, stretched by the sun, flickered a brief ripple like smoke moving through water strangely. Alan blinked, confused, but before he could think, a soft gasp came from the path above.
A lone traveller stood on the walkway.
A woman.
A long black cloak brushes her boots.
A silver-lined sword on her back.
Hair tied in a low, dark braid.
Eyes cold, distant, unreadable.
Kaelira.
But to Nareth Hollow, she was just a wandering swordswoman who passed by every few months.
She simply paused for a heartbeat, watching the field and the young warriors struggling below.
Her gaze brushed across Alan for only half a second.
Not recognition, not emotion, just a passing glance at a quiet boy trying to lift a sword too heavy for him.
Then she walked on.
Alan didn't know why, but that brief moment made the air feel colder.
Edward exhaled loudly.
"Don't worry about them," he said, gently tapping Alan's shoulder.
But Alan barely heard him. His chest felt tight. The whisper of the Black Forest echoed in his memory. The wound on his arm pulsed faintly beneath the bandage like a second heartbeat.
Training ended soon after.
Villagers dispersed. Laughing. Whispering. Ignoring him.
Alan and Edward sat at the edge of the field, their legs dangling above the grass. Alan stared at his hands thin, shaking slightly. For the first time since waking in this world, they looked like hands meant for nothing.
He let out a slow breath.
"Edward…"
"Yeah?"
After a long moment, Alan asked quietly:
"…After all this… why do you help me?"
Edward blinked, surprised.
He scratched his cheek awkwardly, searching for the right words.
Finally, he smiled.
"Because you looked like someone who needed a hand."
Alan looked up.
"That's it?"
"Yeah," Edward nodded. "Some people see danger when they look at you."
He pointed at Alan's shadow on the ground.
"Some see a curse."
He tapped Alan's chest lightly.
"I see a person. That's enough for me."
Alan's breath caught in his throat.
Edward leaned back, glancing at the sky.
"And also…" His voice softened. "I don't like seeing anyone alone. I know what that feels like."
Silence.
Warm. Heavy. Honest.
Alan didn't smile.
But a small, fragile warmth spread quietly inside him—like the first spark trying to survive in the cold.
For the first time, the world didn't feel completely against him.
Just a little.
Just enough.
They sat there together, two boys everyone laughed at, two boys everyone underestimated.
Broken.
Tired.
Weak.
But together.
His real journey was about to begin. Because in the depths of the Black Forest…
Something ancient opened its eyes.