Darkness. Not the kind born of night or closed eyes, but something deeper—a weightless void where time seemed to pool rather than pass. Then, the pull began.
I wasn't falling. I was being drawn.
The world came into focus in slow, uneven pieces—cold wind cutting through my clothes, the damp, musky scent of earth and moss, and the rich undertone of meat cooking over open flame. I stood at the edge of a forest clearing, surrounded by towering trees that swayed as if whispering secrets to one another. The shadows danced across my skin from the firelight, flickering in erratic rhythms that should have been extinguished by the biting wind.
