More than a week had passed since he managed to escape the dense undergrowth. All around was open space, utterly different from the suffocating, oppressive forest. He stood in a clearing, where the grass gently swayed in the wind, and for the first time in days, the sun’s rays touched his face. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth on his skin. For a moment, he felt as if everything he had endured was just a bad dream. Yet the injuries on his body and the exhaustion reminded him that it was real. The tension in his muscles and his labored breathing testified to the struggle for survival. The clearing, though peaceful, felt foreign—almost too quiet compared to the constant noise of the forest he had battled through in recent days.

His wounds were slowly healing, though every movement still brought pain. Every action required tremendous effort, a reminder that survival hadn’t been easy. Despite the exhaustion, he didn’t give up. In moments of doubt, he found anger and determination within himself, pushing him forward. He used gathered herbs to make improvised bandages that sped up the healing, though their effectiveness left much to be desired. Despite the pain, he took another step every day, even if it meant laborious and slow progress.

Each morning, he woke up hoping for an improvement in his health. He tried to be patient, observing as the healing plants gradually restored his strength. During the day, when the sun shone the strongest, he rested, allowing his body to recover. These were moments when he could collect his thoughts, look at the sky, and imagine better days. Thoughts of the future were his only escape from pain and loneliness. He knew he had to survive to regain the peace he longed for.

Nights were the worst, with fear of wild animal attacks preventing him from sleeping. Every crack of a branch, every rustle of leaves triggered an immediate reaction; his heart pounded, and he was ready to flee. He had learned to sleep lightly, resting just enough to avoid complete exhaustion. His body was on the verge of endurance, but his mind remained alert. The forest still posed a threat, even after he had left its dark embrace.

As his wounds began to heal, he decided not to waste time. He had to learn to control the new abilities he had discovered during his journey. Levitation above the ground was becoming more natural, though it initially required tremendous concentration. With each day, he grew more confident—when floating ceased to be a challenge, he started moving silently. He trained among the trees, hovering just above the ground to avoid the rustle of leaves and branches. He became more agile, learning fluid, swift movements without leaving traces of his presence.

The exercises grew increasingly intense. Each day, he faced new challenges, believing his efforts would pay off. He practiced quick ascents above the ground to avoid obstacles like protruding tree roots or stones. He repeated these movements until his body reacted instinctively, without needing to consciously plan every gesture. He knew this could be crucial in situations where every second determined survival.

Hunting small creatures became a daily ritual—not only a way to obtain food but also an opportunity to hone his stealth and control over his powers. At first, each hunt was a challenge, and failed attempts led to frustration. But over time, he learned to control his emotions, letting instinct guide his movements. The more he used his abilities, the better he understood them. They became a part of him, as if they had always been hidden within. With each passing day, he could spot targets more quickly and predict their movements, making him an increasingly effective hunter.

He also trained his jumps, overcoming obstacles like streams or holes. He was gaining precision and speed, skills that would help in future encounters. Each day brought new challenges, but also satisfaction from progress. He knew that only the strongest would survive in this world, and these new abilities could be key. He practiced in stressful situations, charging at obstacles at full speed to test his ability to react quickly. More and more often, he managed to overcome his own limitations, with his skills growing each day.

He introduced endurance elements into his training, which truly tested his physical and mental strength. He tried to remain in levitation for extended periods, hovering over uneven terrain, which required not only precise control over his power but also immense concentration and full body control. At first, it was difficult—his muscles tired quickly, and maintaining balance was a significant challenge. But with each passing day, he learned how to balance, how to distribute his body weight, and focus his energy to stay airborne, even when his muscles burned with effort. These exercises were the most exhausting, often ending in a fall, but he knew it was the key to fully mastering his abilities. Each failure was a lesson, and each success—proof that determination allowed him to overcome his own limits.

As he developed his skills, he reached more frequently for the magical hilt. Training with it presented a new challenge, as controlling the magical blade required not only physical prowess but also inner focus. Each day, he drew the hilt, watching as the blade materialized from ethereal energy. He first practiced simple cuts and blocks, striving to master its weight and the way it responded to his movements. Sometimes, he felt as if the hilt had a life of its own—the blade appeared only when his thoughts were sufficiently concentrated, forcing him to exercise control over his emotions.

He integrated the dagger with endurance exercises. While levitating, he attempted swift cuts, ensuring precision and balance. The hilt added an extra weight and tested his multitasking ability—he had to maintain levitation while effectively fighting. He also practiced sudden dodges, making lateral leaps and then countering with the blade. These movement combinations were challenging but gradually made him more agile and adaptable.

The hilt proved helpful during hunts as well. When he approached prey, he often used the blade to swiftly and silently end the chase. The magical dagger was perfect for precise cuts—it allowed him to kill animals without noise, preventing the alarm of other potential targets. Each successful hunt using the weapon boosted his confidence and deepened his understanding of this extraordinary tool.

Training with the artifact was not just about learning combat—it was also about understanding the magic embedded within it. Gradually, he discovered that his bond with the hilt grew stronger. He began to sense when the blade responded best to his thoughts and when it became disobedient. He knew this weapon was more than a mere object—it was a partner that demanded respect and complete understanding. This realization made his training more effective, better preparing him for the challenges that might come.

One morning, as the sun barely rose over the horizon, he decided to search for new ways to test his strength. He rose early, sensing that this day would bring something extraordinary. The air was cold, and morning mist blanketed the clearing, giving it an almost fairytale appearance. He set off southward, toward uncharted territory. His goal was to find a place where he could test his abilities in real conditions—a place where both he and his enemies would have to fight for survival.

During his journey, he stumbled upon an abandoned village. Wooden huts, now mere shadows of the past, seemed to tell the story of people who once lived there. A sense of unease hung in the air, as though something or someone was watching him from afar. Cautiously, he approached one of the huts, examining his surroundings. The village had a disturbing atmosphere—the wooden structures were rotten, covered in moss, and overgrown with vines, as if nature were trying to reclaim what belonged to it. The windows of the huts were dark and empty, concealing untold secrets. The air was heavy, saturated with the scent of moisture and decay, and the place seemed frozen in time.

Some of the dwellings bore marks of an ancient struggle—broken doors, holes in the walls, as if the villagers had tried to defend themselves from something that came from outside. The presence of past tragedy lingered in the atmosphere, a silent witness to the sorrow that had once unfolded here. In the center of the village stood an old well, its stone edges crumbled, and the black water within appeared bottomless. It felt as though something still lingered in this village, something that refused to leave.

He sensed unease in the air, as though something or someone was watching him from hiding. The village, though deserted, was not entirely dead. Quiet rustlings and faint movements in the shadows indicated he wasn’t alone. His intuition told him that this was the perfect place to test not only his strength but also his composure. He extended his senses, attempting to detect the presence of other beings. He knew he couldn’t afford a mistake—any moment of inattention could cost him his life.

At one point, a silhouette emerged from behind one of the buildings—a low, agile figure, its eyes gleaming ominously in the dim light. It was one of those who had survived in these harsh conditions, perhaps accustomed to solitude and the fight for each day. It moved with the grace of a predator, and its movements were nearly soundless. He felt that a confrontation was inevitable. He didn’t want to fight, but he knew he had no choice—he had to prove he was ready to face any danger.

In his hands, the blade appeared, materializing from magical energy that filled the air with a soft, blue glow. Ready for defense, he waited for his opponent’s move. The figure rushed toward him with unexpected speed, almost blending with the surrounding shadows. Instinctively, he dodged, feeling the enemy barely miss him as a soft whoosh cut through the air. He knew he couldn’t afford a mistake—every move had to be precise and deliberate.

The opponent launched a swift strike, but he used his reflexes to dodge and respond with a counterattack. The blade of his magical weapon cut through the air, its blue glow briefly illuminating the dim surroundings. He was trying not only to fight but also to assess his opponent's combat style—analyzing his movements, predicting the next attacks. The opponent was agile, almost shadow-like; his movements were fast and unpredictable, demanding maximum concentration.

The clash intensified. Both warriors moved with full focus, each trying to find a weakness in the other. He had to use his abilities to lift himself off the ground to avoid a low strike from his rival. Taking advantage of the magic, he leaped over him, landing behind his back and immediately striking. The blade hit the opponent’s shoulder, eliciting a hiss of pain, but he showed no signs of surrender.

The opponent spun quickly, attacking with hatred in his eyes. Their blades collided, producing a metallic clash that echoed through the deserted village. He felt the tension growing in his muscles, and each subsequent blow became harder to deflect. He knew he couldn't rely solely on physical strength—he had to use magic to gain the upper hand.

He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the energy flowing through his body. He felt the power filling him from within, and the blade in his hands began to glow even brighter. He opened his eyes, now filled with determination. He attacked with newfound strength, striking blow after blow, surprising his opponent with his speed and precision. The other retreated, trying to find a gap in his defense, but he gave him no chance.

At one point, he made an unexpected maneuver—instead of attacking directly, he made a quick sidestep, levitating above the ground and shifting his position. The opponent, momentarily disoriented, lost his balance, and that was enough. He seized the opportunity, striking with his blade and hitting the opponent’s side. The attacker fell to his knees, and he immediately jumped back, ready for another attack if necessary.

The opponent, however, surrendered, collapsing to the ground with a quiet groan. He looked at him for a moment, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion. He felt no joy in victory—he knew this fight was merely another test, and the real challenges were yet to come. The blade in his hands vanished, dissolving into the air, and he lowered his arms, breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing pulse.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound coming from one of the buildings. His heart began to beat faster again, and he immediately assumed a defensive stance. Could this not have been his only opponent? The mist still lingered around the village, concealing more secrets than he initially thought. Slowly, he moved toward the source of the sound, attempting to step silently. Each step felt like an eternity, and the surrounding silence was almost palpable.

He reached the entrance of the building where the sound had originated. Gently, he pushed the wooden door, which creaked softly, revealing the interior of the hut. In the dim light, he saw a moving shadow—not a human but rather some kind of animal. He held his breath, trying to assess the threat. Suddenly, a creature leapt from the darkness—small but fast, with gleaming eyes and fangs ready to strike. He reacted instinctively—the blade reappeared in his hands, and he swiftly dodged to the side, allowing the creature to pass him.

The creature, disoriented, turned sharply, ready for another attack. But he did not intend to give it the chance. He delivered a quick slash, and the blade cut through the air, striking the creature’s side. The beast howled in pain, its body convulsed, and then it collapsed to the ground. He leaned over it, carefully observing its final tremors. Inside him, conflicting emotions surged—adrenaline, relief, but also a sadness for having to take yet another life.

The silence that fell after the battle was almost overwhelming. His heart still pounded in his chest, and his breathing was rapid. He knew he had to act quickly—this place was still full of uncertainty. He couldn’t afford a moment of rest. The fog surrounded him, and the morning sun could not pierce through it, giving the village an even more ominous atmosphere.

He looked up, scanning the dark interior of the hut. He noticed abandoned items—broken clay jugs, an old, crumbling bench, and an overturned table marked with claw scratches. It was clear that a fight had taken place here long ago. The walls were adorned with dried herbs, long past their healing properties, and cobwebs hung heavily from every corner.

A shiver ran through him. This place had its own history—a tragic one, filled with pain and suffering, the traces of which were still present. The mist seeping through the cracks in the walls felt like the spirits of former inhabitants, wandering through the remnants of their lives.

He looked down at the dead creature. Though it seemed dangerous, its body was thin, almost emaciated, as if it had been struggling to survive for a long time, just like him. It was clear that even these beasts had found neither peace nor enough sustenance here.

He had to leave the hut before other creatures, drawn by the noise, arrived. He knew this was not the end of the dangers hidden in this abandoned village. Rising, he cast another glance around—every shadow seemed to move, every rustle carried a potential threat. He moved towards the exit, stepping carefully, his senses sharpened to their limits.

As he crossed the threshold, the mist enveloped him once more, and the cool air struck his face. He felt he was being watched, though he saw no one nearby. Every step was filled with uncertainty, and the abandoned village felt like a living organism, breathing, creaking, and whispering in the dark.

He knew he couldn’t let fear take control. He focused on his breathing, quieting his thoughts. This village was a test—a test he had to face to understand that true danger doesn’t always lie in physical combat but in the fear that can undermine confidence. Every shadow, every whisper of the mist was part of this trial. And though he felt the weight of uncertainty, he knew that only through it could he become stronger.

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As he headed toward the center of the village, passing by more huts, he realized that in this silence, among the ruins of past lives, there was something more. Perhaps not just a physical threat, but also something that might help him understand himself better. This fight, though won, brought no satisfaction—it was merely another step on the path he had to walk.

Moving toward the village center, passing one hut after another, his senses were on high alert, ready for any surprise. Around him, the mist danced between the ruined buildings, as if trying to lure him away from his goal. His heart still raced from the recent fight, and every step was charged with tension.

At one point, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Something—or someone—slipped between the ruins. He stopped, tensed his muscles, trying to sharpen his gaze. The mist seemed to thicken, and amid the shadows, he saw a figure—a slender, graceful, almost ethereal woman with long, black hair swirling around her head, moving with the air. Her eyes gleamed, and for a moment, her gaze met his. There was something unsettling in it—a mix of fear and determination.

He took a step toward her, raising his hand as if he wanted to say something, but the woman—like a shadow—immediately turned and darted away. He quickened his pace, feeling his heart beat faster. Who was she? Why was she here? And why had she chosen to flee at the sight of him?

Without hesitation, he ran after her. He couldn’t let her disappear without a word—she was the first living being who hadn’t attacked him in this cursed village. He ran through narrow, overgrown paths, leaping over obstacles and hovering over fallen branches in pursuit. The woman was fast, her figure slipping between the ruins like a ghost, and the mist seemed to aid her, concealing her trail.

With each step, he drew closer to her, but he also became increasingly aware that this was no ordinary chase. The woman moved with grace, her movements fluid, almost supernatural, as if she knew every corner of this village. He realized she wasn’t a random presence—she was someone who knew this place well, someone who might hold answers to the questions that plagued him.

At one point, the woman vaulted over a crumbling wall of one of the buildings and disappeared around a corner. He didn’t slow down, but when he reached the spot, she was already gone. He looked around frantically, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding in his chest. The mist grew denser, and all he could hear were the echoes of his own footsteps.

He stopped, trying to calm his breathing and listen. Where could she have hidden? Who was this mysterious woman? He knew he couldn’t give up—her presence was the key to understanding what was happening in this village. He felt that this was no ordinary encounter, that this figure might hold a significance he had yet to uncover.

He wasn’t going to give up. The mist surrounded him from all sides as he slowly moved forward, trying to trace the mysterious figure, who – he had a feeling – was somehow intertwined with the fate of this place in a way he could not yet understand.

He walked through the ruined huts one by one, each moment in the fog seeming to stretch into eternity. An uneasy feeling crept over him, as though something was constantly watching him from behind the thin walls of the old houses. Suddenly, a faint movement caught his eye – a trace of black hair disappearing behind one of the ruins. Without a moment's hesitation, he headed in that direction, leaping over collapsed beams and vines growing on the ground.

When he reached the spot where he’d last seen the woman, silence awaited him. He glanced around the small hut – it was dark inside, and sunlight couldn’t penetrate the dense fog. Broken shards of pottery lay scattered on the floor, remnants of human presence from long ago. His gaze swept over the old, moldy furniture until he noticed something surprising in the corner – a delicate footprint imprinted in the dust.

It was a clue that the woman was nearby. Adrenaline fueled his steps as he moved through the corridors of the old hut, every rustle still making him tense. Finally, he caught sight of another movement – the woman was trying to escape again, running through a collapsed hallway.

Her figure seemed unreal, as if she were part of the mist that engulfed this village. He chased after her, feeling that he had to uncover the truth. He slipped through a narrow passage, emerging into an open square – once the village market, now overgrown with weeds, cracked stone slabs, and ruins all around. In the center stood a well, its stone edges chipped, and the water inside as dark as night.

Suddenly, he saw her on the other side of the square. She stood there, watching him, as if assessing his intentions. He took a step forward, but she immediately turned, fleeing once more. This time, however, he wasn’t going to let her vanish. He used his magic, lifting off the ground and carefully closing the distance – he knew overusing teleportation could drain his strength. The fog swirled around him, and he felt energy fill his body, allowing him to move with incredible speed.

The woman darted into a side alley, but he was right behind her. When he turned the corner, he saw her trying to climb a fragment of a ruined wall, her movements quick, though it was clear she was rushing. Taking a risk, he focused on his teleportation ability and shifted a short distance, landing right beside her. The woman, startled by his sudden appearance, momentarily lost her balance.

Taking advantage of the moment, he stepped closer and called out, “Stop! I don’t want to hurt you!”

The woman froze, her hands clenched on the edge of the wall, and then slowly turned her head toward him. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty, perhaps even fear. There was something deeper in them, something he longed to understand. They stared at each other for a long moment, while the mist encircled them, as if trying to sever them from the rest of the world.

“Who are you?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound gentle despite his quickened breathing. “Why are you running from me?”

The woman took a deep breath, her eyes flashed, and then, instead of answering, she leapt from the wall and disappeared among the ruins. He sighed, feeling a mixture of frustration and determination. He knew he couldn’t let her go, that he had to find out who she was and what she was doing in this cursed village.

He set off after her again, this time trying to tread as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to scare her away – he wanted her to feel she could trust him. He moved through the ruins, listening for every sound. The fog seemed to thin slightly, and the air was thick with the scent of dampness and decay.

He arrived at a place that looked like an old shrine – a small building with a collapsed roof, its interior overgrown with moss and weeds. The door was ajar, and he sensed the woman might be hiding there. Cautiously, he approached the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his magical blade, ready to defend but also willing to negotiate.

He stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dimness within. The mist from outside seeped through the cracks in the walls, casting ominous shadows that filled the interior with an air of mystery. In the corner, on the floor, the woman sat. Her face was partially obscured by her hair, her shoulders rising and falling with her quickened breath. When she saw him, she tensed, as if ready to flee again, yet there was a hint of hesitation as she watched his movements.

"Please..." he began, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. "I don't want to harm you. I only want to talk."

The woman looked at him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light, filled with conflicting emotions—fear, mistrust, but also curiosity. For a moment, it seemed as though she was weighing his words, then she cast her gaze downward, as if wrestling with a difficult decision.

She remained silent for a long time, her gaze darting away, avoiding his, struggling with her own emotions. In the damp interior of the shrine, the silence was thick, almost palpable, and the only sound—their quickened breaths—seemed to vanish into the darkness. He sensed the tension between them gradually easing, but he also detected something deeper in her—a desperation she was trying not to reveal.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered suddenly, her voice trembling with desperation, barely piercing through the mist that wrapped around their figures. "This place... it's cursed. You won't understand... no one does."

Her words resonated in his mind, stirring unease and planting even more questions. He wondered what she meant, though he instinctively sensed that the answers might be terrifying.

"I know," he replied, trying to calm her. "I came here to understand what's happening. Perhaps you can help me."

She looked at him, a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes, quickly extinguished, replaced by something close to fear. She took a trembling breath, as if gathering strength to continue.

"This village... once full of life, people... children..." she began softly, her voice heavy with pain, barely concealed despair. "Everything was lost... that night."

The young man leaned toward her, waiting in the silence that accompanied her words, almost feeling the weight of memories hidden behind them.

"What happened?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to frighten her away.

Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze fell to the ground, as if the mere thought of that night was unbearable. She remained silent for a moment before answering, her voice filled with a mixture of pain and desperation.

"One night... something came... something that can't be described. It was darkness, true darkness, consuming every spark of life. No one stood a chance... even the bravest couldn't resist it."

Her words hung in the air like a weight, a dark tale that couldn't be erased. He felt she was speaking of something she'd rather not remember, something that haunted her every day. Each word she spoke seemed on the brink of despair.

"I survived only because... I managed to hide," she said, her voice breaking. "But the village never woke again... everyone vanished, and I... I remained, like a shadow of those days, trapped here, condemned to live among memories."

The young man felt the weight of her story, felt the desperation woven into her words. He knew she wasn't talking about an ordinary phenomenon, that something powerful was lurking in this village.

"And now?" he asked hesitantly, feeling a chill down his spine. "Is that... thing still here?"

The woman lifted her gaze to him, and in her eyes was a fear bordering on madness.

"It never left!" she whispered in a trembling voice, the desperation in her words almost tangible. "It's still here, in every shadow, in every drop of mist... waiting. Waiting for the next ones. It feeds on our fear, on anyone daring enough to enter..."

He felt her words penetrate him, each sentence deepening his dread. This wasn't just a legend but something far more sinister.

"That's why I'm here," he said with determination, attempting to soothe her fears. "To discover what this thing is... and learn how to stop it."

She looked at him, and the desperation in her eyes transformed into something darker—a strange, delicate madness lurking just beneath the surface. Her hands began to tremble, and her gaze became uncertain, as if she could barely contain what lay hidden in her mind.

"Stop it?" she whispered with a nervous smile that didn’t match the sorrow in her eyes. "Do you think that’s possible? That willpower, courage, are enough?" Her voice grew softer, almost a hiss. "This thing is beyond our world… beyond understanding. It’s a hunger that never leaves. And you..." she paused, looking at him with a sudden glint of desperation, "you have no idea what you’re up against."

The young man wanted to respond, but her eyes were now blazing with a wild, unsettling fire.

"Run," she whispered, her voice breaking in a sudden burst of near-mad determination. "Leave this place while you can. Run as far as possible. This thing feeds on the courage of those like you... It waits for anyone who thinks they can defeat it. You have no chance! It... it will destroy you, consume you, just as it consumed everyone who was here before me."

Her words filled the shrine with a weight that seemed to press into every corner of the place. The woman, her eyes full of restless fire, stared at him as if trying to force him to grasp the horror of her warnings.

"You don’t know what it is," she continued, her voice shifting, taking on a rough, almost trembling tone. "This thing… it’s not of this world. It’s not a demon or a spirit. It’s something that grows in the darkness, something that feeds on our fear and pain, something that knows no mercy."

Her fingers trembled as if she wanted to grab his shoulders but lacked the courage.

"I watched it consume them all… one by one," she murmured with madness in her eyes. "At first, you think you can escape, that all you need is to be quiet, swift... But it will find you as soon as it senses your presence. You’ll think that fighting is worth it… that you can stand against it, but then it emerges from the shadows… and it consumes… all of you..."

She began to sway slightly, as if lost in her inner nightmare. Her voice became almost a prayer to herself.

"I beg you… leave… before it finds you here. Run and never come back. If you think you have a chance, it’s just an illusion. It will devour you… just like those I tried to warn."

She looked at him, and in her eyes appeared a hopelessness, as if she could already see his fate.

Her words seemed to settle on him like heavy dust, filling the air with a suffocating sense of the inevitable. In her gaze was a final resignation—as if she had already condemned him to the fate that had claimed the entire village. Yet, the young man did not take a single step back. Determination glowed faintly in his heart, though he felt he was stepping onto a path from which there was no return.

"I can’t leave," he said quietly, his voice barely reaching her in the stifling silence of the shrine. "I must understand what this… darkness is. This thing cannot stay here, feeding on the suffering of others."

She looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and helplessness, as if his words were both a promise and a sentence. Tears appeared in her eyes, which she quickly brushed away, as if unwilling to show this weakness.

"This place is a grave," she whispered, her voice echoing the tragedy of long ago. "A grave for those who believed they were strong, who thought they could conquer what they couldn’t even comprehend. You don’t know what survives here, what crawls out of the shadows when night falls. Do you think you have a chance… that courage alone is enough?"

She took a deep breath, then, as if overwhelmed by emotion, reached out and gripped his forearm, her fingers cold and trembling.

"Young man..." she spoke with desperation, her voice sounding like both a prayer and a curse. "I’ve seen it devour those who dared to stand in its way. I heard their screams, saw their shadows melting into nothingness, disappearing as if they’d never existed. And I… I stayed here because I had no other choice. It… doesn’t let you leave."

Her words carried with them a terrifying vision—the fate of those who tried to escape but were caught by what lurked in the shadow. The young man felt a chill pierce his body, yet he didn’t step back.

"Maybe it will consume me, too," he said, barely audible. "But if there’s even a sliver of a chance that I can stop it… I will do everything in my power."

For a moment, the woman just stared at him, as if assessing whether he truly understood what he was getting into. Finally, she sighed, running a hand over her face, her gaze turning strangely cold.

"You think it’s that simple?" she asked with a mocking smile, as if the very idea that someone could defeat this darkness seemed absurd to her. "That you’ll come here, full of hope, and change something?"

There was no longer any pleading or desperation in her voice. Instead, there was a hint of derision, as though his naïveté amused her.

"Everyone who came here thought they were stronger, cleverer. Each one wanted to face what lurks in this village. And then..." she shrugged, as if talking about something trivial, "then they simply disappeared, leaving behind only that foolish, brazen hope."

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile.

"So, you want to try? Be my guest. Go to the center of the village, to where it all began. Maybe then you’ll see how long your courage lasts."

She turned away, as if bored, but spoke again, her voice barely audible.

"I’ll tell you only one thing: what you find won’t play with you. So make sure you have a good reason before you take your next step."

Her words hung in the air, cold and filled with cynicism, leaving him alone with questions only the heart of the village could answer.

The young man watched her in silence. In her eyes, he saw not only cynicism but something more—a shadow of something that might have once been pain or a remnant of old hope, burned away by time and whatever she had endured in this cursed village. Despite her cold words, a fierce and unyielding determination arose within him, tinged with a fear he didn’t even try to suppress.

"I have a reason," he said calmly, his voice steady with unshakable resolve. "I didn’t come here to prove my courage. I came to understand. And if what I find is stronger than me… well, better to know the truth than to live in ignorance."

The woman raised her eyebrows, her smile growing even more bitter.

"Understand..." she repeated quietly, as if tasting the word that seemed almost foreign to her. "You have no idea what that means. Some tried, just like you, and ended worse than those who simply ran. But if you really want to..."

She took a step closer, her face suddenly near his, her eyes gleaming in the dim light, her voice barely a whisper, filled with an unsettling intensity.

"...if you truly want to know the truth, be prepared for that truth to consume you. You can’t face this darkness without becoming something like it. Each step deeper into this village will take something from you until only emptiness remains—the same emptiness that lies dormant here."

A shiver ran through him. Despite her warnings, he remained resolute, though her words made him question his intentions, wondering if he was truly ready.

"At least tell me what to expect," he whispered, feeling disturbingly drawn to her closeness, her words.

The woman stepped back from him, as if she herself hesitated to continue. Her gaze drifted toward the exit, as if she briefly considered escaping.

"This thing..." she began quietly, her voice distant, full of an old fear. "It’s something that existed here long before humans. It’s like a shadow soaked in eternity, like a hunger that knows no bounds. It feeds on fear, pain, the memories of those who are gone... It’s like a voice that, once heard, never leaves you."

"And how do I find it?" he asked, trying to keep his composure.

She merely shook her head.

"It will find you."