The afternoon sun was starting its slow descent as I stepped out of my apartment, the letter securely tucked into my jacket pocket. Leaving my apartment felt like the most mundane thing—just another day, another walk down the same old path. But there was something different about today. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it felt like I was standing at the edge of something. The air felt thicker, charged with something I couldn’t name. The streets were still buzzing with the usual city noise—honking cars, chattering people, distant sirens—but somehow, they seemed distant. Like I was watching everything unfold from the other side of a glass window. I wasn’t really here anymore, and that felt oddly freeing.

I had walked this way countless times, but today, it was different. Every step felt purposeful, as though my feet were carrying me somewhere important, somewhere unknown. There was a strange tension in the air, and the decision to follow the letter—to leave behind the humdrum of my daily life and venture into the forest—pressed heavily on my chest. But even though the weight of it was there, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

The forest was just on the outskirts of the city, a place I’d always known was there but had never really explored. From a distance, it had always seemed like this mysterious, dark place, its trees towering and gnarled, a sort of boundary between the known and the unknown. The kind of place that felt alive—like it was holding something, waiting for someone to find it. And yet, I’d never been brave enough to step into it. The edges had always been enough. I was fine with observing it from afar, staying within the safe boundaries of the road, keeping the mystery at arm’s length. Until now.

As I walked towards the woods, the city noise began to fade away, the familiar sounds muffled by the forest’s unnatural silence. It was odd—there weren’t any birds chirping, no rustling leaves, not even the distant hum of insects. It was as if the whole forest had taken a collective breath, waiting for something. Or maybe it was just me, my mind heightening every little detail, the anticipation growing as I approached the edge of the trees. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting for me in there.

My pace slowed as I crossed into the woods, the path underfoot becoming less distinct, more tangled, as if the forest itself was trying to obscure my way. The air felt thick, charged with something ancient. Each step I took felt like it pulled me deeper into the unknown, and the unease I had felt earlier now seemed to manifest around me, wrapping itself around my chest like a vice. My breath quickened, but I kept moving forward.

The sun had already started to dip below the canopy, its light dimming, casting longer shadows over the path. The trees—so familiar from the edge of the city—now felt like towering, silent sentinels, watching my every move. Their gnarled branches reached toward me, bending and creaking as if trying to tell me something, or perhaps warn me. I glanced over my shoulder once or twice, half-expecting to see someone behind me, but the path was always empty, save for the flicker of movement at the edge of my vision. Shadows. Perhaps my mind was just playing tricks, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone.

Just as I was starting to doubt myself, starting to question if I should turn back and leave the forest behind, I saw him.

In the distance, through the thick trees, I spotted a figure. He was sitting by the edge of a small clearing, his back hunched against the forest, as though he had become part of it. He looked like he had been here forever. His clothes were weathered and worn, the kind of fabric that had seen years of hard use, and his hair was graying at the temples. His hands were folded in his lap, and his gaze was fixed on something beyond my sight.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

Something about him made my skin prickle. I wasn’t sure why, but my instincts told me to stop, to wait. There was something... off about him, yet there was a familiarity too, like I should know him. His stillness, the way he seemed to merge with the forest around him, felt almost natural. He belonged here.

I continued forward, my feet carrying me against my better judgment. Something in me was drawn to him, pulled by an invisible force. Maybe it was the letter. Maybe it was the forest itself, conspiring to push me forward. Either way, I couldn’t turn back now. Not when I had come this far.

As I reached the clearing, the man didn’t move. His back was still to me, his posture bent but not in a way that suggested weakness. It was like he had become part of the earth itself. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. And that’s when he spoke.

“You must be here for the treasure,” he said. His voice was low, gravelly, as though it had been scraped from years of disuse, a distant echo from a forgotten place.

I froze. He hadn’t heard me coming. I hadn’t made a sound, yet somehow, he knew why I was there.

“I... I don’t understand,” I stammered, the unease in my chest rising again. “Who are you?”

The man’s laugh was dry, hollow. It reverberated through the trees, unsettling. “Names don’t matter,” he rasped, dismissing my question with a flick of his hand. “I know why you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

A chill ran down my spine. His words felt heavy, like they had been carved into the very air. He’d been waiting for me? How could he know that? And why? His tone was strange, almost knowing in a way that felt more like a warning than a greeting. There was something about him that didn’t sit right, like he was... somewhere else. Not entirely in this world. His presence was offbeat, like a melody out of tune.

He raised one hand slowly, pointing behind him. I followed his gaze and saw it. The ancient oak. It stood like a dark sentinel, its branches twisted and gnarled, stretching upward with an air of desperate longing. The tree seemed impossibly old, its roots sinking deep into the earth like they had seen centuries pass.

“If you want the treasure,” the man said, his voice suddenly solemn, “you’ll find it there, under the roots of the oak.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. The words sank deep, and a feeling of dread filled me. The treasure was real? And why had this stranger been waiting for me? What did he know? His words felt like a weight on my chest, the kind of pressure you feel when you’re standing at the edge of something huge and unknown. Something that could change everything.

“Beware,” he added, his voice growing darker. “Not all treasures are meant to be found.”

My heart raced. The warning didn’t sit well with me. It wasn’t a casual piece of advice—it felt urgent. Sincere. Like he was trying to protect me from something I couldn’t yet understand.

But there was no turning back now. The letter, the invitation, the promise of something hidden—it was all too much. I couldn’t walk away from it.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to steady my shaking hands.

The man didn’t respond. His eyes, though, seemed to follow me—penetrating, knowing. As if he could see every thought I had. I turned, my feet already moving toward the oak, each step heavier than the last. The path seemed to wind tighter, the trees pressing in on me, their shadows longer, darker.

The forest was growing colder, the chill sinking into my bones. And ahead, the oak loomed, its twisted branches reaching toward the sky. It was waiting. And I was about to find out why.