William Mark stood frozen for a moment before the waterfall. The lenses of his spectacles were being splattered by droplets—but these droplets were not clear; they were a murky, dark red. The massive cascade tearing through the heart of the mountain looked like a torrent of fresh blood. A metallic, iron-like stench wafted through the air, hitting William's senses with overwhelming force.
"This cannot be natural," William muttered to himself. He pulled out his diary again. Its blue light reacted with the reflection of the red water, creating an eerie purple glow. As he glanced at the pages, a new paragraph emerged: 'Beware, traveler! This waterfall is not for quenching thirst; it is the path of lost memories. He who touches this water shall forget his own existence.'
A cold shiver raced down William's spine. Crossing this waterfall meant more than just a physical risk; it was a battle for his very soul. Just then, he noticed hundreds of pale, white hands rising to the surface of the crimson water. The hands seemed desperate to grab onto something. William noticed their nails were black and rotting, as if they were seeking liberation from an invisible world beneath the depths.
Suddenly, a mournful melody drifted from the other side of the falls. A woman's voice, hauntingly familiar and enchanting, called out.
"William... my son... where are you going? Come back to me."
William halted. "Mother?" his voice trembled. It felt as if his mother was standing beyond the mist, beckoning him to return home. His feet instinctively moved to retreat, but at that moment, the diary in his palm grew scorching hot. It was a warning—this was a mirage, a colossal trap.
He took off his glasses and wiped them. Looking back through clearer lenses, he saw no one; only the blood-red water crashing against the rocks. William realized this valley used his inner weaknesses as weapons. According to the map, the entrance to the 'Forbidden Village' lay just across this torrent. He had no choice but to cross.
But how? There was no bridge, no boat. A single drop of that water could erase his memories of his parents and his identity. He opened his backpack and pulled out a sturdy nylon rope he had purchased before leaving the city. He spotted a massive, ancient oak tree leaning over the opposite bank.
He tied a steel hook to one end of the rope. Using the 'lasso' style his father had taught him, he flung the hook toward the oak branch. The first attempt missed and hit the red water; immediately, the submerged part of the rope turned black and began to hiss with smoke. William pulled it back in horror. "Good god! This water is as corrosive as acid!"
Taking a deep breath, he gripped his spectacles and offered a silent prayer. With all his might, he threw the hook a second time. It caught firmly onto a thick branch. William yanked the rope to test its strength. It held.
Now, he had to swing through the center of the crimson falls. Donning his gloves, he wrapped the rope around his arm and leaped. As he swung, the cursed red current surged beneath him. A gust of wind blew droplets onto his trousers, instantly searing small holes through the fabric. His skin burned with sudden agony.
Just as he reached the midpoint, the watery hands lunged for his feet. A rotting hand clawed at his boot. William screamed. At the touch, he felt himself slipping into a vast, dark void. What was his name? Where was he going? What did his father look like? His memories began to dissolve into a blur.
"No! I am William Mark! I am here to find my father!" he roared through gritted teeth. He fumbled in his pocket for the locket his father had given him. The small photograph inside flashed in his mind, and his memories surged back. He kicked the rotting hand away with his free foot.
Finally, he slammed into the far bank. Lying on the wet grass, he gasped for air, his entire body trembling. But he had made it. He had conquered his own memories.
Standing up, he saw an ancient wooden gate adorned with hanging skulls and tattered rags.
Beyond it lay a village, but there was no sign of life. The houses were dilapidated, and a deathly silence hung over the area. Near the gate, he found a broken spectacle lens on the ground—perhaps a relic from a predecessor. Etched into the gate in blood were the words: "Those who enter here are no longer human. Are you prepared to sacrifice your shadow?"
William pushed through the gate. From the shadows of the surrounding houses, it felt as though hundreds of invisible eyes were watching him. In the center of the village, near a large temple, he spotted his father's familiar hat lying in the dirt. As he ran toward it, figures draped in black cloth emerged from every doorway. They held torches, but the flames burned a ghostly blue.
They surrounded him. One figure stepped forward—a figure that looked exactly like William. Only his eyes were solid white, and his face was devoid of expression.
The 'Doppelgänger William' spoke in a raspy voice, "Welcome, William Mark. We have been waiting for you. Did you know your father is still alive here? But to have him back, you must surrender your glasses and your identity to us."
William stood stunned. He faced the ultimate crossroads: find his father or preserve his existence. Just then, a new sound emerged from the pages of his diary—a spectral whisper that hissed, "Do not trust them, William. They are hunters of souls!"
William gripped the diary tight. He knew every grain of dust in this village was a death trap. What would he do? Did these blue-flamed torchbearers truly know his father, or were they dragging him into a deeper darkness?
His glasses fogged up once more. He saw the fake William reaching out a hand, moving closer...