Creeping over the horizon, I could see the edge of The Forgotten Dunes.

The sandy flats ended abruptly, and a mushrooming swell of lush, purple plants obscured the drop into a valley. At least, they looked purple. The otherworldly glow of the moonless night could have easily tricked one into thinking they were purple. And while the wandering vigilante had said they would be purple, once we'd gotten close enough for me to compare the tint of my skin to the tint of the massive leaves crawling desperately across the border into the Dunes, I could tell they were red.

"Want to carry my Globe?"

The wanderer chuckled, the kind one gives to ease their nerves. "I would only drop it at the slightest hint of a Nightmare. I suggest you do the same."

"They can't be much more dangerous than a Mauler, can they?"

He slowed as we approached the edge of the Dunes. "Anything under The Leader's command will not only hunt you down to the best of its abilities, it will also forgo its very nature to ensure your death. A Mauler whose behavior you cannot predict… I would hesitate to call such a beast a Mauler at all."

"You know, being late doesn't sound so bad—"

"What are the four rules inside The Valley?"

Happy to show off my memorization skills, I lifted my hand with one finger raised. "One. If you hear a noise, don't move, but if you see a shadow, run." Another finger raised. "Two. Don't look at the trees unless one looks at you. Three. Don't get wet and don't get anything else wet. And four…" My fourth finger held for a little too long.

"If already running…"

"Right, don't stop until you're out of The Valley. Compared to the others, that one barely seems like it needs to be a rule. You could at least tell me why I shouldn't look at the trees or get wet."

"If you knew the reason, you would get yourself killed. And I care little if they fit together, follow the rules and you survive."

I bowed to his demands and refocused my attention towards the red vegetation. "What if it gets too dense to run through?"

The vigilante looked at me with a morbid sort of stare.

"Right, dead." I hefted up my Globetrotter, which was delightfully lighter than normal, took another bitter sip, and capped it off.

"And if there had to be a fifth rule, it would be to not make a noise."

"Why isn't it a fifth rule?"

He scoffed and ducked underneath a large flat leaf, the size of his torso, into the Valley of the Dead.

The first challenge in The Valley was the decline. Wanderer had told me it wouldn't be steep—and it certainly wasn't by any normal metric—but once you've committed to traversing the earth in pure silence, it becomes far more difficult to descend a slope of loose dirt and foreign plants. Does this one crunch? Can I step here? Will I cause a landslide if I place my foot wrong?

Somehow, the man leading me down the drop flowed through the ever increasing density of leaves like water following the curves of a river. Meanwhile, I only barely kept from crunching on twigs or slipping into a loud tumble, despite my extensive training in the art of stealing things quietly. The experience was quite humbling.

On top of trying not to get the both of us killed, I was growing ever more fascinated with the leaves that poured in from every direction. Some sprouted from near the ground and some from high above. Some resembled the ribs of a dead animal, drooping long enough to curl back in on themselves, and some were flat as a board. Some sprang up large enough to live under while some grew the size of my outstretched palm. But all of these leaves held one commonality: They grew from trees. Trees I could not look at, based on an arbitrary rule I did not understand.

The shape of a Mauler's claw grabbed my attention, only for my worry to fade and then quickly rise again with the realization that I was staring directly at a tree that so happened to resemble a Mauler's claw. It was thick and leaning to one side, but it held innumerable offshoots of thin, gangly branches. Many sprouted into the air, but just as many seemed to dig into the ground around it. I brought my gaze away from the mesmerizing knot, and for a blink, I could have sworn it moved, but I dared not look back.

After a few minutes of careful descent, we reached The Valley's floor, and the variety of plant life exploded again.

My companion shot me a look before parting a curtain of vines and stepping into the dense drapery of assorted bulbs and barely blooming flowers. He motioned for me to follow, and I did. His methodical movements were easy to match, clear and concise. It reminded me of the shadowing exercises I used to do with my mentor. Only this time, I can't take a beating for a second attempt.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

We slipped past vines that grew shapes like interlocking fruits, elk antlers, and human body parts. We slid along the forest floor, avoiding lone branches, unexplained sinkholes, and worst of all, knee-high arcs of thorn that grew sporadically, threatening to dig into your leg. The vigilante was careful to point out each and every one of them as we worked our way through the hanging maze.

Then, a noise, and the man ducked. The foliage and vines around him rustled audibly as he did. It was so sudden that my heart stopped, and only once it had resumed did I crouch to my knees, smooth and silent.

He placed his hand on his mouth, as Keeper had done when she couldn't speak. I nodded and mimicked the gesture. But once my palm was pressed against my lips, I noticed how intensely my arm was shaking.

Shadows. Many shadows. The wanderer looked directly at the buzzing mass of shadows, but he did not move. Why isn't he running?

I was caught in a standstill, unable to decide between the first rule laid out for me and the stillness of the rule-giver in front of me. Does he know this Nightmare? Is it harmless? Is it fast? Would running get us killed? What's going on?

At the peak of my confusion, the man reached over, grabbed my arm, and ran. For a beat, the buzzing stopped, the shadow swirled like a small storm, and then it roared louder than a waterfall crashing against my skull. The thing flew in our direction but by the time it had begun moving, I had already dropped my Globetrotter and locked myself into a flat out sprint.

I traced the vigilante's steps perfectly as he weaved across the jungle floor. We stepped on branches to launch ourselves across small pitfalls and arcs of thorn. The vines and hanging flowers all swung back into my face as the wanderer pushed them aside, my eyes squinting to avoid blinding myself. My arms soon came up to block the vegetation, and, slowly, the vigilante was putting distance between us. My traced steps were not quite as perfect as his.

The slightest fraction of hesitation when placing my foot, the thinnest inkling of confusion when the man's leg slipped into shadow, the faintest tinge of pain jabbing at my strained muscles. Each of these contributed to a worrisome gap. And then, the fabric of my cloak caught on a thorn. The long audible riiiiip dragged my momentum to nothing, and I tumbled.

My shoulder caught the ground at an odd angle, and an explosive pull flared up in the muscle attaching to my neck. I continued the uncontrolled roll and somehow stumbled onto my feet, gasping for air, wincing at the quickly growing pain in my neck. I felt it build, and as I did, a deep silence came as a surprise. The buzzing's gone.

I glanced around and could scarcely distinguish the forest from the darkness. The vines had grown thinner and the low-hanging leaves less abundant. Looking up, there were far fewer cracks in the canopy overhead. It was dark. But worse than that, my guide, the wandering vigilante, was nowhere to be seen.

I crept step by step, mimicking a man who was no longer in front of me, keeping my ears wide open for even the faintest hint of a buzz. And I heard it. I stopped moving and closed my eyes to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It was faint, but growing. My breathing quickened. Do I just run now? I can't tell where it's coming from—

The buzzing mass of shadow shot straight down from above, dispersing into a carpet of tiny black dots on the forest floor, all racing towards me.

I dashed in a random direction, thankful of Maker's map to allow me the freedom of not getting lost. But soon, I discovered how difficult it was to traverse the forest at top speed without the vigilante's movements to copy.

Luckily, the complex terrain fell behind me and it smoothed out into a more manageable flat stone. The buzzing trailed further and further away as I picked up more speed, until, the stone beneath me gave way, and my foot met water, followed by the rest of my body.

I plunged into an icy pool. Bubbles filled my vision before my eyes stung. I squeezed them shut. The muffled splashing overhead told me where the surface was, but soon, the buzz of the Nightmare joined it. I pried my eyelids apart, letting them burn in whatever alchemical ailments this water held, and strained to make out the furious swirling of dark dots on the surface. They can't swim.

The limited air in my lungs and the creeping frost against my skin forced my arms to move. With each stroke, the taut muscle in my neck cried out in pain, but I refused to waste my energy on a Repair, especially while underwater and without a supply of blood handy.

The buzzing loomed overhead, but in the distance, I could see something that looked like a rockface touching the water's surface. Every ounce of energy left inside swam towards it, pulling my body through the murky depths.

As I approached the rockface, it looked less and less natural, but my lessening breath gave me no other option. A faint glow penetrated through the surface of the water, and I kicked my legs as hard as I could. The weight of all my equipment proved far more troublesome while swimming upwards, and I felt my consciousness fading as I approached the growing light. I pushed my body to its utter limit, legs and arms fighting my waning vision.

My head burst across the water's surface, and my mouth sucked in a prolonged breath of warm, stagnant air. My chest propped itself on nearby solid land, but as I gasped and blinked the stinging residue out of my eyes, I noticed it was a wooden floor. Smoothed and finished with a waxy coating.

I glanced up and scanned the cavern I'd emerged into. A table, chairs, hanging lamps, carpets, shelves, pots, blankets, paintings on the wall, and at the far end of the room, a great big fireplace. It blazed heat into the comfortable cave. Beside the fireplace, a set of iron tools hung on the wall. On the floor beside them, a blackened brush had shed a layer of soot onto the carpet.

Finally, in the far corner, a door creaked open and a thin old woman peaked her head around. Once she saw me, she stepped out into the light of the fireplace and her worried expression came through quite clearly.

"My, don't get too many visitors these days. Come, come, take a seat by the fire. You look cold."