I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. Time doesn’t feel real here. The forest, this place, it messes with your sense of reality until everything starts to feel like a dream—or worse, a nightmare you can't wake up from. I stumbled backward, the ground shifting beneath me in a sickening blur. My mind was in chaos, thoughts spinning out of control, clashing into each other. I tried to grab hold of the pieces of what was left of my reality, but the moment my fingers touched them, they dissolved. It was like trying to hold water in your hands.

The truth? It’s too much to bear. And it’s so heavy it presses down on my chest, as if the very air around me is thick with its weight. I'm stuck here. Trapped. Forever.

Every time I try to escape, I end up back here. Every path I take, every face I meet—it all leads me back to the same place. The same clearing. The same coffin. The same damn cycle, like a broken record that keeps playing no matter how many times I try to smash it. The forest is my prison, and I’m its prisoner.

How did it come to this?

I keep asking myself that, but the answer is just out of reach. My mind is flooded with hopelessness, an emptiness gnawing at me, tightening its grip with every passing second. It’s like something inside me is unraveling, piece by piece.

The forest feels different now. It’s like it’s alive. I can almost feel the heartbeat of the trees pulsing around me, thumping in my ears like a drumbeat that won’t stop. The trees aren’t just silent watchers anymore. They’re breathing, shifting, groaning under some unseen weight. Every rustle of the leaves, every creak of the branches above me, feels like it’s alive, whispering something just beyond my understanding, just loud enough to claw at the edges of my sanity.

The whispers begin to grow louder, rising from deep within the forest. It’s like the woods are speaking directly to me, slipping into my thoughts, wrapping themselves around my consciousness. At first, it’s just a faint sound, something barely there. But then, the voice. It’s familiar, yet strange, like it’s been with me all along, lingering in every version of myself I’ve encountered before.

“The treasure is buried beneath the oak…”

The voice is insistent, low, seductive, as if it’s been waiting for me to hear it. Waiting for me to understand what it means.

“But it’s not what you think it is, Adam. You’ll see soon enough.”

A cold chill runs down my spine. It’s like icy fingers are trailing down my neck, the sensation so sharp it almost feels like a physical touch. The words stick to me, crawling under my skin, sinking deep into me. I can’t shake them. I look around, searching for the source of the voice, but the forest is still. Silent, almost too silent.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the whispering fades. The forest goes quiet again, and the silence that follows is overwhelming. It presses in on me from all sides, suffocating, thick with invisible weight. The air itself feels heavy, like the trees, the ground, everything is holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for me to make the next move.

And that’s when I realize it. I’m not in control. I never was. It’s like the forest is pulling me along, nudging me forward, step by step, down a path I don’t want to walk but can’t avoid.

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I take a shaky step forward, my legs trembling beneath me. Another step. I don’t even know where I’m going anymore. It’s like my feet are moving on their own, guided by some unseen force. The trees around me loom larger, their twisted trunks and gnarled branches reaching down like fingers, threatening to grab me. The deeper I go, the more distorted everything feels. It’s like I’m walking through some alternate reality where nothing makes sense, but everything feels painfully familiar.

Then, it happens. I stumble into a clearing.

I stop dead in my tracks. The place feels…wrong. But also, somehow, it feels like home. Like I’ve been here a thousand times before, even though I know I haven’t. The trees form a perfect circle around the clearing, their limbs intertwining like the threads of a spider’s web, almost like they’re keeping something inside. The ground beneath me is soft, rich soil that squelches beneath my boots, and the air smells of decay—like something long buried has been disturbed.

But it’s not the trees or the soil that catches my eye. It’s what lies at the center of the clearing.

Another coffin.

It’s different, though. This one isn’t like the others. It’s pristine, untouched, almost too perfect. The wood gleams faintly in the dim light, its edges sharp and smooth, the lid sealed tightly. There’s something about it that feels…alive. Not in the way the trees are alive, but in a deeper, more ancient way. The air around it hums with energy, vibrating like a soft whisper that tickles the edges of my mind.

The coffin sits there, waiting. And somehow, I know it’s been waiting for me. It’s always been waiting for me. Just like everything else in this cursed forest.

I approach cautiously, my heart thudding in my chest. Dread and curiosity fight for dominance in my gut. I’ve never seen this coffin before, but it feels more real than the others. More permanent. More dangerous.

My hand twitches, like it wants to reach out to it, but I stop myself. I know better than to open it. I’ve opened enough coffins already.

But then, my hand moves against my will. I feel the cold wood beneath my fingertips, and it sends a shock through my body, a jolt of energy that makes my heart race even faster. But then, something shifts in my mind. I know. I know what will happen if I open it. I know what I’ll find.

Death. Another version of me. And then the cycle starts over. I’ll be trapped here, forced to walk this path again and again, never escaping, never breaking free.

I can’t do it. I can’t open the coffin.

Just then, the whispering comes back, louder this time, like the forest itself is speaking to me, urging me to open it.

“It’s not what you think, Adam. You’ll see soon enough.”

I freeze. My heart is pounding in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. My mind screams at me to leave, to run, to stop this before it’s too late. But my body doesn’t listen. I’m rooted to the spot, paralyzed.

The forest closes in around me, and the air grows thick, suffocating. The whispers crescendo, deafening in their urgency. I look at the coffin again, and the hum of energy grows stronger, vibrating through my very bones. The coffin begins to glow, a soft golden light seeping through the cracks, like something inside is stirring.

I step back, my breath shallow, my heart racing. I can’t resist much longer. I can feel the pull, the pressure, the compulsion to open it.

But then, something shifts. A weight lifts from my chest. The whispering fades, and the air around me clears. For a moment, the forest is quiet again, the distant rustle of leaves the only sound. The coffin’s glow dims, and the pressure on me eases.

And in that moment, I realize the truth.

This is just another part of the cycle. Another piece of the puzzle. The treasure—the one the voice spoke of—was never buried beneath the oak. The treasure was always the cycle itself. The only way to escape it? To break it. But breaking it would mean stepping outside of time, outside of this forest. And I’m not sure I can do that.

The forest is patient. It waits. It’s still. And I know, as I stand on the edge of this new coffin, that the end isn’t here yet. But I’m ready. Because the forest? It’s never finished with me. And the cycle? It never ends.