INT. CAMP OUTSKIRTS – MORNING
The sun barely peeks over the jagged mountain line. Mist clings to the earth like a forgotten curse. An old tree, twisted and ancient, stands like a weary sentinel. Beneath it sits the Old Man, cross-legged, quiet, almost ghostly in presence. Around him, wounded soldiers, coughing and groaning, gather — some bandaged, some pale, all tired. Their armor is dull, stained with yesterday's violence.
Despite being a new group, a few familiar faces from the original listeners remain — their injuries a reminder of survival, but not victory.
WIDE SHOTS show healthy warriors strapping saddles, tightening armor, kissing charms. There is tension in the air — a pre-ambush calm so thick it could drown.
Suddenly, a broken laugh:
Soldier (half-mocking): "You fall asleep again, Old Crow? Tell the rest, or we'll all die wondering!"
Another:
Original Listener (grinning weakly): "I didn't lose a leg just to miss the ending!"
The Old Man's eyes lift. Slow. Distant. Then back, sharp like old steel.
Old Man (low, steady):"Maybe you fake the coughs so you don't march to your end. But let me remind you—there's worse than death waiting in the dark."
He adjusts his seat, breathes in, and then gives them a grin that never reaches his eyes.
Old Man:"Where did I leave off...?"
They lean in.
Then — he pauses again, this time slower, more somber. And he says:
"The bravest men fear not the blade, but the door left open in a silent house."
As the camera pushes in on his face, his voice begins to narrate once more...
EXT. FOREST CLEARING – NIGHT
A dim fire flickers beside a decaying horse carcass, its ribs stark against the moonlight. Buzzing flies, distant howls. A blood-stained body slumped nearby — the merchant — cold, twisted, already half-forgotten by the world.
NARU sits by the fire, swaddled in a crude hide stitched from the horse's skin. His eyes are vacant, lips moving soundlessly as if conversing with something unseen. The gemstone — that damned, gleaming gemstone — glimmers faintly in his palm.
JARN limps into frame, clutching his side. His face is drawn, dark circles under his eyes. He's pale, worn — still barely himself.
Jarn (gently)"Naru...? You alright?"
No answer. Just whispers from Naru. A twitch.
Jarn (steps closer, voice rising)"I said—"
SMACK.Naru backhands him — sudden, brutal. Jarn stumbles back, cradling his jaw in stunned silence.
The gem falls.
CLOSE-UP: It lands between them, catching the firelight. Jarn's eyes fixate on it. Something shifts.
Naru (snarling)"What gives you the right to touch my treasure, huh?"
Jarn (voice shaken)"Naru... This isn't you. I don't know what's happening, but... you're changing. I can feel it."
Naru (laughs dryly)"Jealousy, is that it? You always hated seeing me ahead."
Jarn (desperate)"Don't twist this! You weren't like this on the docks... or when we took the ferry... You didn't flinch when you skinned that horse — I didn't say anything then. But this? This isn't just survival anymore. It's something else."
Naru stares, eyes hollow, then grins.
Naru (low, reverent)"You don't understand... This gem, it speaks. It shows me things — memories, yes — but more. Promises. Paths. If you'd just touch it, you'd understand."
Jarn breathes heavily. His sanity is threadbare. But... he kneels.
Reaches toward the gem.
SFX: WHOOSH.The fire crackles unnaturally. Suspense mounts. Jarn's fingers brush the gem.
—
FLASH — FOR A SECOND ONLY JARN SEES:
A dragon-like lizard, smoke and memory swirling around its translucent body, slithers in the shadows behind Naru. Its eyes glow. Its form pulses like it was half-born from thought.
—
Jarn jerks back.
Naru (eager)"Well? What do you see?"
Jarn (quietly, sadly)"...Nothing. It's just a rock. A shiny one, sure — but if we sold it, we might eat for a week."
Naru's eyes narrow. He lunges, grabs the gem, pockets it quickly.
Naru (cold, dismissive)"Forget it. You're not ready."
Jarn watches him. Doesn't argue. But his gaze lingers to the tree line... where the dragon-lizard seemed to vanish.
[INT. FOREST CLEARING – NIGHT]
Camera pans from the half-eaten corpse of the horse to the campfire crackling weakly. A thick quiet coats the night. A blanket made of stitched hide rests on Naru's shoulders. He stares into the gem like it holds a god's secret.
Naru(to himself, smiling)(murmuring)"They'll see. Just a little deeper... it always shows more."
Jarn, seated silently beside a gnarled tree stump near the fire, casts a glance at Naru. His eyes hold both fear and grief. Then, he turns his back to the fire.
Jarn(flatly)"Goodnight."
From Jarn's perspective, we see Naru's silhouette beyond the flames — hunched, still, smiling unnaturally. The heat distorts the shape of his body as the firelight flickers — his outline ripples, unreal.
[DREAM SEQUENCE BEGINS]
[EXT. DREAM FOREST – NIGHT]
Jarn runs, gasping, thudding through a nightmare version of the forest. Trees close in like teeth. Behind him, something slithers unseen, impossibly fast — every time he turns, only the sound of wind and distant hissing.
A glint — a glimmer of reptilian scale — flashes between the trees. The sound of rustling intensifies.
Jarn stops. He's frozen — breath hitching, chest heaving. The ground beneath him is a pile of dry leaves... then they begin to spiral.
The leaves swirl around his legs, rising, winding. They coil upward like smoke — but thicker — until they begin to change. Leaves become scales, scales become flesh — a serpentine body, thick and unyielding.
A massive form envelops Jarn, and a head rises above him — obscured in shadow, but with the vague shape of a dragon or something older, watching.
Its tongue, thin and searching, flicks toward Jarn's face.
Jarn(mouth wide, trying to scream — no sound comes)"N-no…"
As the tongue almost touches him—
[JARN JERKS AWAKE]
[EXT. FOREST CLEARING – NIGHT]
Jarn gasps. His hand instinctively reaches for his chest. Sweat. Firelight flickers weakly. Naru is asleep — or seems to be — his chest rising gently, his face peaceful as if the earlier madness never happened.
Jarn watches him in disbelief. His breathing slows, but unease clings to him.
Jarn(to himself, whispering)"What's happening to us…"
He glances toward the satchel where Naru hid the gem. At the very edge of his vision, just beyond the firelight — a faint shimmer — like a tail sliding behind a tree.
He turns fast. Nothing.
Scene: "Ash Whispers" — Forest Interior, Late Morning
The ember glow of the final flame sizzles as Jarn presses dirt over it with the heel of his boot. A thin wisp curls upward like a final breath from the night before. Around them, the trees loom tall, draped in fogged sunlight filtering down in shafts, indifferent to their presence. A cold, uneasy stillness clings to the morning.
Naru shoulders his pack silently. The gem, once obsessively clutched, now lies wrapped in stained cloth at the bottom of his satchel. He no longer speaks to it. But something in his eyes says he still listens.
They don't speak. Not out of anger anymore—just fatigue, wariness, and the quiet tension that settles between people who have survived something unspeakable. Words feel too loud for the woods. They simply nod, like soldiers passing signals.
Their boots crunch over wet mulch, broken twigs snapping like bones beneath each step. Birds are oddly absent. Even the wind is hushed, as if the forest itself is holding its breath.
Jarn walks slightly ahead. His eyes are sunken, but alert. He hasn't dreamed again, not since the night the coiled leaves became scales and the serpent loomed. But the forest hasn't let him forget. Shapes shift in the corner of his eye—slithers between trees, glints like wet scale under dappled light. He turns, always too late. Nothing there.
He's begun to wonder if the creature isn't hiding from him, but watching.
Beside him, Naru's head twitches subtly now and then. He blinks too long. He walks like someone dragging chains too heavy to be seen. Sometimes, a faint smile creeps onto his lips before quickly vanishing. He hears whispers—not distinct, but like echoes of names he once knew, fragments of laughter from a time that feels dreamlike. Always just beyond comprehension.
The days blend. Two more pass. Rain falls once, but they weather it beneath a fallen cedar. They dry their horse jerky over damp embers. They sleep in shifts, though neither says it's out of distrust.
Morning, Day 5.
Jarn stands, brushing ashes from his palms. The scent of smoke rises—but not from their fire.
He stiffens.
It's not their fire.
It's thicker. Fresher. Rising in the distance like a hand reaching up through the canopy.
He doesn't have to speak. Naru has already noticed. For a moment, their eyes meet—not with fear, but a strange, unspoken agreement. A lifeline, maybe.
Jarn nods once.
Naru nods back.
And they begin moving toward the smoke, deeper into the forest.
Their pace quickens—cautious, but drawn. The trees begin to thin, just slightly. The earth underfoot changes—less wild, more... lived on. Flattened in strange patterns, like faint paths never meant for human feet.
In the air: something new.
Woodsmoke.
[END OF SCENE]