The world slowly returned to Izak—first, the sound of rushing water, loud and strong. It reminded him of rapids. Strange, though—there were no rapids where he lived. It was just a small town in the highlands. Then his body shivered as an icy wind sliced through his hoodie. Every muscle ached, as if he’d run a marathon in his sleep, and his limbs felt heavy. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Mornings had always been a struggle for him; the light was his worst enemy upon waking. Yet, if there was one thing he was proud of, it was his vivid green eyes and sharp sight. Those were what allowed him to spot wildlife so effortlessly while shooting with his camera. When he finally managed to force them open, he found himself lying in a tiny glade surrounded by impossibly tall trees that stretched toward the sky like jagged spires. Their twisted branches clawed at the clear sky, reminding him of the forests in Madeira, but these trees were far larger—towering, ancient. The grass beneath him was damp, and the thick canopy of the trees acted like a natural umbrella, letting almost no sunlight through. Moss and mushrooms clung to rocks and tree trunks in every direction. The air smelled of wet earth and grass, with an undertone of something unfamiliar. He turned his gaze toward the source of the rushing water. A river, about thirty meters away, churned violently—a dark torrent racing along its path. Just the sight of it made him feel small and vulnerable. There was no way he could cross it from here. Anyway all he could see on the other side was only more trees. Groaning, Izak sat up, his body protesting every movement. His head swam with dizziness, making it difficult to think. He ran his hands over his head, checking for injuries, and glanced down at himself. His clothes—an oversize sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his favorite black hoodie—were damp, dirty, and clinging to his skin, the result of sweat mixed with the humid air. There was no sign of anyone else. No wreckage. No cries for help. Not even the faint hum of engines or smoke from a crash. “Where…?” His voice cracked, barely audible over the wind. He pressed his hands to his temples, trying to make sense of it all. Memories came in jagged flashes: the blinding light of a lightning strike hitting the plane, the deafening roar of thunder, the terrified cries of passengers—and then... nothing. A blank, white void. The sudden recollection sent a spike of panic through him, and as if on cue, a sharp, excruciating pain tore through his skull. It felt as though a blade had been driven through his head. Izak gasped, unable to make a sound—not even a whimper. His vision darkened at the edges, and the world tilted. The last thing he remembered before succumbing to the darkness was the cold, wet grass beneath him and the relentless roar of the river.

When Izak opened his eyes again, the world had dimmed. Shadows danced across the glade, cast by the swaying trees. The sky above glowed an unusual red and was dotted with stars, though no moon was visible—perhaps hidden by the surrounding forest. The wind howled softly, rustling the trees. Their creaking branches sounded like skeletal arms reaching out, and the leaves whispered an eerie melody. He shivered, goosebumps prickling his arms and neck. The chill shocked his body into motion; he had to move—fast. Testing his limbs, he found them lighter now, though a dull ache lingered in his muscles. Hours must have passed. The tall grass beneath him had acted like a natural mattress, though now it was damp and cold. Slowly, he sat up, his breath fogging in the freezing air. He didn’t need to be an expert to know he wouldn’t survive the night out in the open. His mind raced. His years of hiking and camping in South America had taught him the basics: shelter first, everything else second. He scanned his surroundings. The river was close—he could hear it roaring—but its dampness would only make things worse. Staying in the glade wasn’t an option either; it offered no cover, only exposure to the elements. That left the forest. Izak’s gaze shifted to the tree line, the shadows between the trunks looming like a wall of darkness. The twisted, gnarled trees might provide some kind of shelter. Perhaps he could find a hollow large enough to crawl into or piece together a rudimentary shelter with fallen branches and leaves. But the thought of venturing into the forest sent a chill down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold. The woods felt... alive. The shadows seemed deeper, the air heavier, almost oppressive. “I really don’t want to go in there,” Izak muttered, the words slipping from his tight lips. But if he wanted to survive the night, he had no choice. Standing slowly, his knees stiff and reluctant, he began moving toward the edge of the glade, step by step. It felt like walking straight into the jaws of a predator. “I’ll just stay near the edge,” he told himself, his voice trembling slightly. “No need to go too deep. Just… find a decent tree, some branches, and make it through the night. Then figure things out in the morning.” The wind howled again, almost mocking his resolve. He stopped, swallowing hard, before forcing himself forward. Logic demanded action, and survival demanded courage. Now standing just a few steps from the tree line, Izak stared into the forest’s depths. The canopy was so thick it completely obscured the sky. No stars, no moon—only faint, shifting shadows danced over him, swaying and twisting with the rhythm of the wind. “Just the branches and leaves,” he told himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He wished desperately for his camera bag—it had a flashlight in it. But no, he had nothing. Only his damp clothes: oversized black sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his trusty hoodie. At least in the darkness, he wouldn’t stand out. With careful, deliberate steps, Izak ventured deeper into the forest, his eyes scanning every direction. The ground was treacherous—roots twisted and curled like gnarled fingers, eager to trip him with every step. The forest floor was a chaotic mess of damp leaves, loose dirt, and hidden dips. He couldn’t afford to fall; his body still ached, and who knew what kind of insects or creatures lurked beneath the foliage. Time wasn’t on his side either—he had maybe an hour before the growing darkness would make each step a gamble. Shelter was a necessity, and he needed it fast.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

As he moved, the trees grew wider, their massive trunks cloaked in rough, thick bark that seemed to drink in the dim light, making them appear even darker. The forest was alive with sound. Insects buzzed incessantly, their droning hum pressing against his ears and making his skin crawl. Every so often, the rustle of leaves or the soft patter of tiny feet caught his attention—small creatures scurrying out of sight as he approached. The sudden movements startled him more than once. Still, the presence of wildlife was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it was a sign that food might be possible—if he could catch it of course, he had experience in tracking but not in hunting. On the other, it meant predators could be near, the kind that wouldn’t hesitate to turn him into prey. His gut tightened at the thought, and he quickened his pace. The dense undergrowth clawed at him, thorns snagging his oversized sweatpants. Progress was slow and frustrating; more than once, he had to shove past stubborn brambles or overgrowth that tugged at his clothes. His sweat dampened his skin, chilling him in the already cold air. When he glanced behind, the glade was no longer visible. Though he hadn’t ventured far, the maze of trees and vegetation had swallowed it completely. Turning back wasn’t an option—panic would only make him lose what little sense of direction he had left. Grabbing a fallen branch, Izak fashioned a crude walking stick. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. He used it to test the ground ahead and push aside stubborn foliage. The thought of cutting his hands on thorns or sharp bark made him cautious; bleeding in a forest like this could attract who-knows-what. The minutes dragged on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest seemed endless, an oppressive labyrinth with no clear path forward. Then, finally, a glimmer of hope. Up ahead, a massive tree came into view. It was at least twice as wide as the others, its immense trunk riddled with knots and scars. At its base was an opening, large enough for him to crawl into. Relief flooded through him. “This should do,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the forest’s ambient hum. Kneeling down, he yanked up handfuls of grass to create a rough, makeshift mattress inside the hollow. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He then gathered fallen branches and leaned them against the entrance, hoping to block some of the wind—or at least create the illusion of protection. Finally, Izak eased onto the bed of grass. His body screamed for rest. The adrenaline that had kept him going earlier had completely faded, leaving him drained. As he closed his eyes, thoughts churned in his mind. What is this place? The trees, the sounds, the feeling of being watched—everything about this forest was wrong. The oppressive atmosphere gnawed at him, making him feel like prey in someone else's domain. Yet exhaustion proved stronger than fear. Slowly, sleep took him.

Izak dreamt of a woman.

She walked toward him with a fluid, almost ethereal grace. Her long, dark hair cascaded nearly to her hips, and her angular, striking face held a beauty that seemed both regal and dangerous. Her eyes glowed a deep crimson, like embers burning in the dark. She wore a torn black dress that clung to her slender frame, and behind her stretched two black wings. A jagged, fractured horn jutted from the right side of her forehead, and on the left simply stood a fresh looking scar. She was a vision straight out of an epic fantasy tale. “Come find me,” she said, her voice like a whisper carried on the wind. “You have to hurry. Follow the river upstream until you reach the ruins.” Izak knew he was dreaming, how could it be otherwise, yet he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Who are you? What do you want?” Her piercing red eyes met his, and it felt as though she was peering into his very soul. “If you want to live,” she said softly, “and if you wish to find Elsa, you must reach me.” His breath hitched. Elsa? Before he could respond, the dream shattered.

A rustling noise snapped Izak awake. He bolted upright, his heart pounding. The hollow tree surrounded him like a cocoon, but the noise had come from outside. Crawling forward, he carefully parted the branches he’d used to cover the entrance and peered out. A rabbit darted across the forest floor. Izak exhaled, a mix of relief and frustration flooding him. “Just a rabbit,” he muttered. “You scared the hell out of me.” As the rabbit disappeared into the underbrush, Izak leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. But his thoughts lingered on the dream. The woman’s words echoed in his mind: Follow the river upstream. Find the ruins. And then there was her mention of Elsa. His late wife’s name. Could it have been just a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and stress? Maybe. But something about it felt… real. Too vivid to dismiss. Regardless, following the river had been his plan all along for this new day. He remembered the survival advice: rivers often lead to civilization. Even if the dream was meaningless, it was still the best course of action. Determined, Izak steeled himself. He would find the river, and he would move upstream. Whether it led to ruins, salvation, or something else entirely—he had no choice but to see it through.