Julia Wraithwood trudged through the thick undergrowth, the seemingly endless expanse of Hellsmouth Forest closing in around her. The towering, gnarled trees loomed, their branches weaving into a web of shadows that blocked out much of the sunlight. She moved with purpose, her blackened hands gripping the haft of her makeshift spear tightly. Her journey through the haunted forest had already proven fruitful—her newfound connection to the plants around her had grown exponentially.

The memories from the spirit she absorbed were scattered and disjointed but still valuable. This place, Hellsmouth Forest, was infamous. To the south lay the Dungeon of Kalash, a medium-tier dungeon frequented by adventurers seeking rare materials and monsters. It was dangerous, teeming with shambling dead and ghouls, but it offered Julia a glimmer of hope—resources, supplies, and perhaps an opportunity to better conceal her otherworldly appearance.

Julia paused by a clear pool of water nestled among the roots of an ancient oak. The sight of her reflection gave her a jarring reminder of how much she’d changed. Her hands and feet were blackened like charred wood, with veins of glowing green webbing their way up toward her pale arms. Her face, though blurred in the water’s rippling surface, seemed ghostly—deathly pale with an ethereal glow that emanated faintly from her eyes.

Her makeshift covering of woven leaves and grass hung awkwardly on her, more a testament to necessity than skill. She crouched and dipped her hands into the cool water, the green veins flickering faintly in response to the proximity of life around her.

“I don’t even recognize myself anymore,” she murmured, her voice low and tinged with a mix of fear and determination.

Her reflection blurred as she stood, resolve hardening. The dungeon was her next destination. If she could scavenge armor, clothing, or weapons, she’d have a better chance at survival.

The outskirts of the Dungeon of Kalash were foreboding. Crumbling ruins dotted the landscape, consumed by nature and shadow. Vines covered the walls, their thorny lengths pulsating faintly with the ambient mana that hung heavy in the air. Julia approached cautiously, her senses heightened by the new mana coursing through her body.

Her connection to the forest gave her an uncanny awareness of the plant life and energy around her. She could feel the malicious undercurrent of mana emanating from the dungeon, seeping into the roots and soil like poison.

She crouched by a patch of horned vines growing against the wall of a crumbled archway. Reaching out, she let her mana flow into the plant, her fingers twitching as she tested her newfound ability to manipulate it. The vine quivered in response, the thorns glinting menacingly.

She didn’t have to wait long. A lone zombie shambled into view, its rotting form clad in a tattered dress. The faint red glow of its eyes hinted at the malevolent energy animating it. Julia tensed, her fingers moving like a puppeteer pulling invisible strings.

The vine lashed out with a sharp crack, wrapping around the zombie and pinning it to the wall. The creature thrashed, letting out a guttural groan, but it was no match for the enchanted vines. Julia darted forward, driving her sharpened wooden spear into its head. The red glow in its eyes faded as it went limp, its undead existence snuffed out.

Julia worked quickly, stripping the corpse of its clothing. The dress was simple—a plain, knee-length garment, frayed and torn but still functional. It smelled faintly of decay, but it was leagues better than her leaf-and-grass covering.

She continued her efforts, ambushing several more undead creatures over the next few hours. With each victory, she scavenged bits and pieces to form a crude adventurer’s outfit. She managed to find a pair of worn leather boots, a threadbare cloak, and a belt with a rusted dagger still sheathed at its side.

Each kill tested her growing abilities. Manipulating the plants required focus and mana, and while her connection to the forest made it easier, she could feel the strain building.

Her final kill of the day was a ghoul—a far more dangerous opponent than the shambling dead. It moved quickly, its claws slashing at her as she manipulated a patch of thorny roots to trip it. She barely dodged its strikes, her spear breaking during the fight. In desperation, she used her own mana-infused hand to drive a root into the ghoul’s chest, its sickly body convulsing before collapsing in a heap.

Julia leaned against the dungeon wall, breathing heavily. The ghoul’s body yielded better armor—an intact leather vest and bracers—and a short sword. She donned the gear, her confidence bolstered by her scavenged outfit.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Julia stared out at the forest’s edge from her makeshift camp. The dungeon loomed behind her, its dark entrance beckoning ominously. She had survived another day, but the knowledge she’d gained from the banshee’s memories weighed heavily on her.

The town she sought wasn’t far, just a few days’ journey to the southeast. But with her ghostly appearance and the growing realization that her powers set her apart from the rest of this world, she knew blending in would be a challenge.

Her hand glowed faintly as she rotated the mana within her, the green veins pulsating like living things beneath her charred skin. The connection to nature gave her strength, but it also marked her as something unnatural.

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“Clothing, armor, weapons... all pieces of a puzzle,” she muttered to herself. “But if I’m going to survive in this world, I’ll need more than that. I’ll need allies... and power.”

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Aaron Devsson’s fingers brushed over the edges of his shiny new tin-colored token, the emblem of his first step toward becoming an adventurer. The token, though plain, gleamed with the promise of possibilities. He flipped it between his fingers, unable to suppress the grin spreading across his face.

His father’s disapproving words echoed in his mind: “Forget this foolish dream, Aaron. No one in our family has ever made it beyond the fields.” But Aaron refused to let those doubts take root. This was his chance to rise above the poverty that had weighed down his family for generations.

Aaron adjusted the strap of his small iron-banded shield and glanced down at his sword—a simple blade, but it was sturdy enough for his first dive into a dungeon. The Border Union, nestled between the Kurs Kingdom and the wildlands, was a frontier region bustling with adventurers and traders. His family had moved here years ago, setting up a modest supply shop for those who braved the dangers of the infamous Hellsmouth Forest.

His two companions, both fresh-faced and eager, stood beside him on the outskirts of town.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Aaron?” one of them asked.

Aaron nodded. “It’s just the outskirts of the dungeon. We’ll stay together, keep watch, and stick to the plan.”

The third companion grinned nervously. “It’s better than staying in town. My mother nearly tied me to the bed to keep me from leaving.”

The three shared a nervous laugh before turning toward the forest path that led to their destination. But before they could take their first step, a figure stumbled into view.

The woman appeared from the treeline like a phantom. She was cloaked in tattered cloth, the layers covering her from head to toe. Not a single inch of skin was visible, and her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she hadn’t eaten or rested in days.

Aaron raised his hand instinctively to stop his companions. “Hold up. Who’s that?”

“Another adventurer?” one of them asked, though her appearance made that doubtful.

Aaron stepped forward cautiously. “Hello? Do you need help?”

The figure turned toward him, her head tilting slightly as if trying to understand. She mumbled something, her voice soft but unintelligible.

“I can’t understand her,” Aaron said, glancing back at his friends. “She doesn’t look hostile, though. We should help her.”

“She could be dangerous,” the other adventurer muttered, gripping his sword tightly.

Aaron shook his head. “She looks half-dead. Come on, let’s get her back to the guild hall. Sathin will know what to do.”

Reluctantly, his companions agreed, and the group escorted the woman back to the town.

The guild hall was a modest two-story structure, doubling as a tavern for adventurers who passed through the Border Union. Its wooden beams creaked under the weight of raucous conversation and the smell of stale ale.

Aaron pushed open the door, leading the cloaked woman inside. A few heads turned, but most paid no mind. Fresh adventurers helping a stranger wasn’t exactly newsworthy.

The guild master, Sathin Silvertongue, sat at a corner table, poring over a map marked with mana-infused sigils. His long blonde hair fell in waves over his purple robes, and his piercing violet eyes lifted from his work as the group approached.

“Sathin,” Aaron said nervously. “We found this woman near the forest. She’s… not from around here.”

The elf mage’s gaze flicked to the cloaked figure, his expression shifting subtly to one of curiosity. “Not from around here,” he repeated, his smooth voice laced with a hint of intrigue. He stood gracefully, his ornate staff clicking against the floor as he approached.

The woman murmured something again, her voice faint and her words incomprehensible. Sathin’s brow furrowed, and he held up a hand to silence Aaron before he could speak.

“She’s an Outworlder,” Sathin said flatly, his tone carrying the weight of certainty.

Aaron blinked. “An Outworlder?”

Sathin waved him off. “It’s rare, but it happens. Travelers from distant realms, often brought here by magic gone awry or divine intervention.” He raised his staff, its crystal tip glowing faintly. “This should help us understand each other.”

With a whispered incantation, the spell of translation took hold. The woman flinched slightly as the magic wrapped around her, but then she straightened, her posture still guarded.

“Who are you?” Sathin asked.

The woman hesitated, then spoke haltingly. “My name… is Julia. I was… trapped by a haunted tree.”

Sathin’s eyes narrowed. “How long were you trapped?”

“I… I don’t know,” Julia admitted, her voice carrying a hint of desperation. “I don’t even know how I got here. I just know… something happened, and I woke up like this.”

Her hands moved as if to gesture, but she quickly tucked them back beneath the tattered cloth.

Sathin studied her intently, his violet eyes scanning her for any signs of deception. “You don’t understand where you are or what’s happened to you?”

Julia shook her head. “No. But… thank you for helping me.”

The elf’s expression softened, though only slightly. He didn’t sense hostility from her, but Outworlders were unpredictable at best and dangerous at worst.

“Very well,” he said. “There are no inquisitors in the area to question you, so I’ll take it upon myself to assess whether you’re a threat.”

“I’m not dangerous,” Julia said quickly. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“We’ll see,” Sathin replied, his tone carefully neutral. “For now, rest here. We’ll figure out what to do with you.”

Julia nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”

As Aaron and his companions exchanged uneasy glances, Sathin returned to his table, his mind racing. Outworlders were rare, and rarer still were those who appeared near Hellsmouth Forest. Whatever brought Julia here, it wasn't a chance.