Magical World, in the Depths of the Enchanted Forest.

The Enchanted Forest was a mystery, a vast labyrinth of secrets and magic. I, known simply as Red, moved cautiously through this realm of enigmas. My clothes, worn by time and countless adventures, allowed me to move with the agility of a shadow among the trees. My cloak, once a bright red, had blended with the dark tones of the forest, making me part of it.

The air was filled with the scent of wet earth and pine, with a strangely sweet touch that filled my lungs with each breath. The atmosphere was charged with an otherworldly tension and anxiety. Every corner of the forest shimmered with a twisted magical glow, where vibrant greens and blues intertwined under a dimly lit purple sky.

I had learned to read the signs of nature, interpret the silence of the trees, and anticipate the movements of the creatures that inhabited this place. My eyes, accustomed to the gloom, constantly scanned the surroundings for any sign of danger.

My dagger, a gift from my mother, hung from my belt, always ready to defend me. Life in the forest had taught me to be cunning and resilient, qualities that had saved me countless times. Although I preferred to avoid conflicts, I wouldn't hesitate to face any threat.

The Enchanted Forest was not a common place. Situated at a critical point between the enigmatic Wonderland and near Neverland, it bordered the land of Logres. The nearest place was the Kingdom of Hearts, a land full of mad and fantastic inhabitants. Recently, the kingdom had suffered a coup, and the throne was usurped by a ruler rumored to be childish and inexperienced, always accompanied by her feline pet.

This place was more than just a collection of trees and paths; it was a living entity of ancient and powerful magic, a forge of both wonderful and terrifying creatures, a meeting point for stories and beings from various realms. Its paths were ever-changing, its trees whispered secrets, and its inhabitants, from fairies to darker beings, played a crucial role in the balance between the magical and the mundane.

Every step in this forest was an adventure and a threat. Legends spoke of travelers who got lost and whose fates became intertwined forever with the forest's stories. "I have to get out of here quickly," that thought echoed in my mind. But even with my experience as a thief and adventurer, I was completely lost; depending on my location, it could take weeks to find a way out of this labyrinth of twisted trees. That is if I wasn't caught first by one of the creatures that inhabited this place.

Twilight was falling over the forest when I heard the sound of struggle and pain: a young man, fallen among the leaves, was crawling with a mix of fear and determination, pursued by a creature that looked like something out of a child's drawing but which I knew was anything but innocent.

The Korudi fungi, with their bulbous caps and bright green skin speckled with yellow spots, could be mistaken for a peculiar variety of forest flora by an unknowing observer. But these beings were the embodiment of a sinister threat, newcomers to the magical world whose origins were shrouded in absolute mystery. They appeared as a plague all over the world just over a decade ago; not even the wisest of wizards could determine where these beings came from or why.

I had read the reports posted on guild and inn bulletin boards, originating from studies conducted by Merlin at Camelot's University of Magic on the Korudi. His warnings highlighted the insidious nature of the fungi: their capacity for deception, manipulation, and ultimately, their chilling method of infecting their victims. According to the research, in a disadvantaged situation, the Korudi could resort to an extreme tactic: their spores could invade the body of their hosts, subjugating their will and transforming them into pawns in a biological and macabre chess game.

This infection process caused a gradual and horrifying deterioration in the affected person. Initially, the victim appeared normal, but soon their eyes would take on an intense red tint and begin to secrete a greenish sweat. Within days, the infected person's body would undergo rapid decay, entering a state of accelerated decomposition caused by the parasitic advance. What remained was a human shell, a crucible of fungal growth from which new Korudi emerged. If not destroyed in time, this infection center would become a breeding ground for the proliferation of more fungi.

The darkest rumors spoke of an enigmatic alchemist who had developed a cure for this terrible affliction. However, information about his identity, kingdom of origin, and whereabouts was nebulous, almost to the point of being considered a myth. Despite the slow progression of the infection, it was crucial to destroy the infecting fungus before it could complete its parasitic process.

"Who are you?" I asked, holding my dagger with a steady hand at the appearance of the Korudi, ready to defend myself against any attempt of its lethal deceit.

The young man lifted his eyes to me, his gaze clouded by suffering but clear in his plea. "Thomas," he said with effort, as the fungus moved towards him with an agility that contrasted with its clumsy appearance. "I'm the blacksmith's son from Camelot. Please, don't let them... help me!"

There was no time for doubts or hesitations. With a swift and precise step, I lunged towards the Korudi fungus. It, feeling threatened, displayed its most deceptive appearance, shaking its cap in an attempt to elicit sympathy, but I knew too well the perversity hidden beneath that façade.

With a fluid and precise movement, my dagger plunged into the center of the green and bulbous mass of the fungus. The blade pierced its flesh with a dull thud, as if it had pierced a thick layer of wet and resistant moss. The Korudi fungus emitted a sharp and piercing scream, a grotesque symphony of pain and agony that echoed through the forest like a death cry.

The moment the dagger's blade sank into its body, a viscous and foul-smelling substance oozed from the cut, staining my weapon's steel with a greenish and foamy liquid. The texture of the wound was repulsive, a mix of mossy fibers and sticky fluids that clung to the dagger with nauseating tenacity.

The fungus's body began to decompose almost instantly, its robust structure collapsing into an amorphous and decayed mass. What was once a living entity quickly turned into a pile of organic waste, dissolving into a greenish and yellowish mush that spread across the forest floor. The smell of decomposition was overwhelming, an essence that filled the air and clung to the throat like a toxic cloud.

The fungus, in its last moments of life, seemed to writhe in a pathetic attempt to maintain its form, but the severity of the wound was too much for its strange physiology. Within seconds, all semblance of life vanished, leaving behind only a repulsive stain on the forest floor.

Thomas's relief was palpable, and his gratitude filled his eyes as he struggled to articulate words through the pain consuming him. "I didn't know... if anyone would come. Before I appeared here, the fungi had surrounded the market, and in the destruction of the battle, a wall fell on my legs. I can't move them," he confessed with a broken voice.

I looked around, aware that the Korudi's scream could have attracted the attention of others of its kind. "It seems you'll be a heavier burden than I thought," I said, helping him lean against the rough bark of a tree. "We need to be quick and build a shelter. Night is falling, and with it, the shadows grow bolder."

As the sky darkened and night spread its mantle over the forest, the task of building a shelter became a race against time. Thomas, with his experience as a craftsman, guided me on the best way to interweave branches and leaves, creating an improvised but solid barrier against the forest's nocturnal dangers.

The moon, rising in the sky, offered a pale light that barely filtered through the foliage. The stars flickered indifferently to our situation, and the fire I had lit projected errant shadows on the ground and the distorted figures of the surrounding trees.

Around our small fortress of branches and leaves, the watchful presence of forest creatures could be felt, a threat barely contained by the circle of light and warmth we had created. Despite the temporary security our shelter offered, I knew the real battle for survival was just beginning.

Assured that Thomas was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances, I allowed myself a brief moment to sit and observe him intently, as well as our surroundings.

Thomas, even in his weakened state, maintained the robust appearance of someone accustomed to hard work. His clothes, now worn and stained from crawling through the forest floor, evidenced his past in the forge. A green scarf, possibly with some personal significance, adorned his neck, adding a touch of individuality to his disheveled figure. At his waist, he carried a blacksmith's hammer, likely also used as a weapon to defend himself before I arrived. Soot marks on his face revealed long hours spent near the furnaces, while his slightly tanned skin spoke of constant exposure to the harsh outdoor conditions.

His deep brown eyes exuded a mixture of determination and vulnerability, reflecting his inner strength in the face of current adversities. His jet-black hair, tangled and speckled with forest debris, added a touch of disorder to his appearance

. However, the most striking were the wounds on his legs. Despite his efforts to conceal them, his torn, bloodstained pants and the way he avoided putting weight on them revealed the severity of his condition.

"Thank you for... not leaving me," Thomas murmured, his voice a shadow of pain. "If it weren't for my legs..."

"Don't think about that now. Among my problems, I didn't need an infected chasing me through the forest," I interrupted him, knowing that guilt and 'what ifs' were as dangerous as any creature lurking in the darkness. "We'll survive this night, and tomorrow, we'll find a way to get you to safety."

Thomas nodded, closing his eyes and surrendering to the exhaustion that claimed him. While he rested, I stayed alert, the dagger still in my hand, ready to defend our shelter from anything the night decided to throw at us.

The fire crackled, a small sanctuary of light and warmth in the vast darkness of the Enchanted Forest. I settled against the sturdy trunk that formed part of our shelter, and the fatigue of the day began to take its toll on me. The battle against the Korudi fungus, the tension of uncertainty, all weighed heavily on my body and spirit. My eyelids grew heavy, and reality slowly blended with the world of dreams.

Sleep claimed me quickly, drawing me into its inevitable embrace, but it offered no refuge from the turmoil of my mind. The day's memories intermingled with echoes of the past, creating a tide of visions that kept me adrift in a sea of unrest. It had only been about five hours since chaos had erupted in Camelot, yet the sense of despair made it feel like an eternity.

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In the veil of my sleep, I saw myself in the market of Camelot, a place that was permeated with tension foreshadowing chaos. The market stalls and everyday laughter gave way to piercing screams of terror. The Korudi had emerged from the shadows, and the city plunged into absolute chaos, its inhabitants desperately seeking refuge from the invasion.

My heart pounded as I ran through the cobblestone streets, dodging terrified citizens fleeing from the Korudi fungi. These creatures emerged from the shadows, attacking with blood-curdling ferocity. Amid the chaos, the heart-wrenching screams of a mother caught my attention. I saw her surrounded by fungi, desperately protecting her baby in her arms.

Without thinking, I grabbed an abandoned cart from a street vendor and, with all my strength, pushed it towards the crowd of fungi. The cart plowed through them violently, knocking down as many as I could before an invisible obstacle halted its advance abruptly, throwing me to the cold, hard ground.

Though in pain, I quickly got up. My charge had created a momentary breach, allowing the mother and her baby to escape. I caught a glimpse of gratitude on her face. However, my action had not gone unnoticed. The fungi, alerted by the commotion, turned towards me with renewed aggression.

Crawling and then running with all my might, I tried to distance myself from the horde now chasing me. Just as despair began to cloud my judgment in my frantic flight, a beam of light hit me, pulling me into a vortex of luminosity and shadow. When the clarity dissipated, I found myself in this forest, disoriented and alone.

A white orb of light appeared suddenly before me, flickering with a fragility that suggested its existence was on the verge of ending. I watched it, feeling more fascination than threat, drawn by its enigmatic presence. It was as if the orb had something to tell me, a silent call that resonated within me. As I approached, a soft and ethereal voice emerged from the heart of the orb, repeating words that seemed a distant and urgent echo: "Gather them... save them... find me... gather them... save them... find me..."

With each repetition, the voice grew weaker, like a whisper dissolving in the wind. The orb began to pale, its light flickering precariously in the surrounding darkness. Then, in a sigh of light, it extinguished completely, taking its message and leaving behind a deep blackness and a silence that filled my mind with unanswered questions.

I woke up abruptly, the dream interrupted suddenly. Despite the strange ending, the image of Camelot under siege clung to my consciousness, a persistent shadow in my mind. Thomas still rested beside me, his breathing calm, a contrast to the storm of my memories. I watched the fire he had lit with skill that defied his condition, projecting dancing shadows on the walls of our makeshift shelter.

Thomas lay back, his sleep marked by an expression of pain that his face could not hide. Despite his severe leg injury, he had managed to gather the strength to collect firewood and build a small barricade with branches and leaves. It was a monumental effort for someone in his state, and the shelter he had constructed, though modest, offered us protection against the cold wind whispering threats of the night.

When Thomas woke up, startled by sudden pain, he apologized, his voice a whisper between clenched teeth. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured.

"Don't worry," I replied, trying to sound reassuring, keeping a prudent distance. "How are your legs now?"

He gave a weak smile, a fragile mask for his suffering. "I've endured pain before, but this... is different. It's more intense, and the helplessness of not being able to move... it's frustrating."

"You need to rest and recover," I said, firmness in my voice trying to instill some confidence in him. "Tomorrow, I'll look for something to ease your wounds."

Despite our exchange, caution remained my faithful companion, an invisible shield as necessary as the dagger resting beside me. Though Thomas had shown skill and impressive courage, distrust was a constant in my life, particularly in a place as treacherous as the Enchanted Forest.

"Tell me more about yourself," I suggested, curiosity weaving through my words. "What's it like being the blacksmith's son in Camelot?"

Surprise briefly lit up Thomas's face before being replaced by a shadow of melancholy. "They always expect something from me," he began, and his story flowed with raw honesty. He spoke of the pressure to follow in his father's footsteps, the famous blacksmith Nick Chopper, a man of great skill and respect.

Thomas's childhood was marked by the harsh treatment and scoldings of his strict father, balanced by the warmth and love of his mother. He was the eldest of three children. Thomas's family was established in the mountainous region of Winkie, in Oz. From a young age, he was trained almost against his will in the craft his father practiced, enduring harsh lessons filled with pain and discipline. Thomas's destiny seemed to be marked by others. Everything worsened when his mother mysteriously disappeared. Upon returning home with his siblings and father after a long day in the workshop, Thomas's mother was gone.

After the mysterious disappearance of Thomas's mother, life in Winkie became unbearable for the family. The pain and uncertainty weighed heavily on them, especially on Thomas's father, who was emotionally exhausted from the futile search for his wife. Constant reminders in every corner of their home only intensified the pain of her absence, making it difficult to move forward.

This bitter reality plunged the family into deep despair, leading them to make the difficult decision to leave their home in search of a fresh start.

Camelot, with its distant location and reputation as a place where one could start anew, offered a refuge to heal emotional wounds and rebuild their lives. Though Thomas wasn't entirely convinced about leaving his home, he understood his family's need to distance themselves from the painful past and seek new hope in an unfamiliar place.

As Thomas shared his story, an unintentional bond formed between us. The moon rose higher in the night sky, its light bathing the Enchanted Forest, painting our shelter's contours in silver. The fire, now weaker, still fought against the darkness with its hypnotic dance of shadows and light.

"That must have been hard, so you're the blacksmith who never wanted to be a blacksmith," I commented, a tired smile crossing my lips. Thomas nodded, his gaze lost in the flames, as if searching for the freedom he longed for.

"My father... is a man of honor, hard work, and tradition," Thomas said, his voice resonating with respect and a touch of regret. "Camelot's forges echo with his creations, each strike of his hammer like the heartbeat of his broken heart. He quickly earned respect in Camelot, at the cost of losing himself. I could never accept his perspective, and I know my destiny lies elsewhere, not covered in tin in the workshop. My calling is different, though I didn't know it would lead me to... this."

I nodded in understanding. "Life often drags us down unexpected paths. You have to learn to take care of yourself and survive."

Thomas, looking at me with a mixture of recognition and curiosity, said, "You seem like an expert survivor. I knew it the moment I saw you face that horrible fungus. You're Red, right? The girl who saved her grandmother from the Big Bad Wolf years ago. That story is known throughout the kingdom of Camelot."

Hearing his words, a series of dark and tormenting memories surfaced in my mind, as if a veil lifted to reveal a landscape of horror. "Yes, that's me," I murmured. "It's a story people love to tell."

The fame of that story had always followed me, but the reality was much darker and more painful than the tales told.

The wolf was not an ordinary beast; it was a twisted demonic entity, a being of pure evil that delighted in despair and deception, a doppelgänger that fed on the terror it caused. I remembered how it had taken my grandmother's form to lure me to it, a deception so macabre and

 twisted it chilled the blood. Its appearance was a grotesque parody, its voice a sickening imitation that resonated with malice. It was an encounter that distorted my perception of reality, confronting me not just with a monster but with the desecration of my own memories.

I remembered the tearing sensation when I discovered the truth, the horror of seeing the beloved figure transform into an infernal beast.

The fight with the wolf was an experience that bordered on the infernal. Its claws were blades that tore flesh, and each attack was imbued with cruelty. It fed on my fear, enjoying every moment of terror it extracted from me. The battle was savage and ruthless; the wolf toyed with me, like a predator savoring the suffering of its prey before delivering the final blow.

I could feel its fetid breath, its jaws ready to devour me. When the wolf finally decided to end the game, revealing its true monstrous form, I thought my end had come. I was wounded, fear invaded my body, a shiver ran down my spine, my energy quickly faded. But at that moment of absolute despair, he appeared: the woodsman, the legendary hero. His entrance was like an unleashed storm, his enchanted axe a lightning bolt cutting through the darkness. The fight between them was a spectacle of fury and power. The wolf fought with wild ferocity. But the woodsman, with his shining axe, was an unstoppable force.

Although the wolf wasn't annihilated, the woodsman managed to wound it severely, forcing it to flee. That act of bravery saved my life, but the emotional and physical scars of that night never left me. My grandmother was left in a state of constant terror and paranoia, and it wasn't long before she passed away. Consumed by grief, my mother blamed me for what happened, and the pain caused by her words drove me away from her forever. The encounter with pure evil changed my life, shaping the person I've become. Since then, I've lived alone, stealing and doing whatever necessary to survive."

Thomas observed me, the shadow of my past stories reflected in his eyes. "I didn't imagine that story was so... intense," he said, his voice low, filled with newfound understanding.

"When people find out about my past, they reject me. In the stories, I might be a survivor, but society treats me as if I'm cursed. It's a part of my life that I always carry with me," I said, feeling the weight of those dark memories. "A lesson about the evil lurking in this world, and the strength needed to face it." I gave him a sad smile. "It's part of who I am now. Those experiences... change a person. They taught me to be strong, to survive."

With that brief conversation under the slowly clearing sky, I felt our mutual understanding deepen. Despite my instinct to remain alert, Thomas's bravery and ingenuity deserved a respect I couldn't deny.

At dawn, the Enchanted Forest was shrouded in a veil of mystery and danger. Thomas, still lying down and showing clear signs of pain, watched the first light of day with eyes reflecting a mix of hope and resignation. Beside him, the previous night's fire had become a faint glow, its dying embers struggling against the advance of dawn.

I observed Thomas's wounds, feeling a sense of urgency in my chest. His immobile legs and the expression of pain on his face were constant reminders of our precarious situation. There was no time to lose; his condition worsened with each passing moment, and in his state, he would be an easy target in case of an attack. I remembered the old alchemy books my grandmother had given me, texts that spoke of potion-making, an essential art for any adventurer in the magical world.

"I'm going to look for the herb of life, it's the basic ingredient for a health potion. It won't heal you completely, but it should at least help you endure the pain until we find a better cure or reach a safe place," I told Thomas as I prepared for the search.

In the art of alchemy, creating a health potion is considered fundamental, almost as basic as mixing water with the mythical herb, imbued with magical power.

The herb of life is known to grow in places where the concentrations of magic are strongest, often found in areas bathed in natural sunlight or moonlight, allowing it to flourish. It's a low-growing plant, with delicate stems crowned by a white flower that resembles a heart, a symbol of the life it can give.

Thomas, with a look filled with gratitude mixed with the concern of someone who doesn't want to be a burden, nodded. "Be careful, Red. This forest hides more dangers than can be seen. I've heard stories..."

Before diving into the morning shadows of the Enchanted Forest, I made sure Thomas had everything he needed to sustain himself during my absence. I left him a loaf of bread I had taken from the Camelot market, as well as some berries we had gathered on our way to the shelter. Though it wasn't much, it was vital for him to conserve his strength, especially in such a vulnerable state.

Following Thomas's instructions, we improved the handle of his craftsman's hammer to make it resemble a warhammer, a weapon that would allow him to defend himself if needed. Despite the severity of his injuries, his determination not to be useless was clear. "I don't know how much I can do with this, but I won't go down without a fight," he said with a mix of defiance and gratitude.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," I promised, feeling the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. Every minute we spent apart was a risk in the ever-changing and dangerous Enchanted Forest. But it was a necessary risk; without the herb of life, Thomas's chances were drastically reduced, and only that could help him now.