Arlen trudged forward, his gaze sweeping the increasingly strange terrain around him. The trees had transformed; their bark no longer carried the rough, familiar texture of the forest but instead seemed smooth and metallic in places, as though their growth had been stunted and warped by something unseen. The air, too, felt thinner—lighter, almost—but not suffocating, just... different.

He paused by one of the twisted trees, running a hand along its odd surface. It was cold to the touch, as if lifeless, though the tree still stood tall and firm. He couldn’t shake the eerie silence that had settled around him. There were no rustling leaves, no chirping birds, not even the occasional scurrying of small animals. It was a quiet so profound that it gnawed at his senses.

At first, he thought it was his exhaustion playing tricks on him. But as the hours passed, the differences grew starker. The grass beneath his feet had faded to a sickly gray-green, and patches of soil were oddly glossy, reflecting the weak sunlight like polished stone. Arlen didn’t realize it, but he was stepping deeper and deeper into the heart of the red zone.

Unaware of the danger that would send others fleeing, he pressed forward, driven by an instinct to find safety. His steps faltered as he noticed something peculiar—small shrubs growing in erratic, crystalline shapes, their translucent branches catching the light. They were unlike anything he had seen, and yet they seemed to thrive in this barren, silent expanse.

“Why does it feel... empty?” he muttered to himself, the sound of his voice almost startling in the quiet.

He stopped to rest beside a strange hollow where the ground dipped unnaturally. The edges were jagged, almost as if something had clawed the earth apart. No plants grew in the hollow, just a smooth, blackened surface that glimmered faintly. Arlen crouched, touching it curiously. It wasn’t hot, but it radiated an odd sense of finality, as though it marked the end of life itself.

Unbeknownst to him, this was the edge of the red zone, a boundary that no other living being dared cross. But Arlen, free of magic, was an anomaly. As he moved forward, the red zone revealed its true nature. The deeper he ventured, the more surreal the environment became.

The trees grew taller but thinner, their branches twisting toward the ground like clawed fingers. The air had an almost metallic tang, and Arlen could feel a faint vibration beneath his feet, as if the very ground resonated with some hidden energy.

Despite the strange surroundings, Arlen felt no fear. If anything, the absence of life was oddly comforting. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe—unwatched and untouched by the chaos of the war-torn world outside.

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Still, his logical mind took note of the peculiarities. "If nothing lives here, why am I still standing?" he wondered aloud. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as he moved deeper into the strange terrain, unknowingly stepping into a realm that no one else dared to explore.

Arlen moved cautiously, each step drawing him deeper into the surreal expanse of the red zone. Days had passed since he first crossed its invisible threshold, and the world around him felt more alien with every mile. The ground beneath his feet had shifted from its glossy, polished appearance to something more crystalline—fractured shards of earth that crunched underfoot like broken glass. The trees, once vaguely familiar in their warped forms, now resembled jagged sculptures, their translucent trunks refracting the light in kaleidoscopic patterns.

Arlen had long since stopped questioning the silence. It was no longer unsettling but had instead become a strange comfort, a reminder that nothing living would disturb him here. Yet, his sharp mind couldn’t ignore the obvious: this place wasn’t lifeless—it was brimming with something else entirely.

The air shimmered faintly, as if saturated with an unseen energy. Occasionally, Arlen felt a tingling on his skin, like the prickle of static electricity, but it never caused him pain. He had seen no animals, no insects, not even the faintest signs of decay or rot. Everything organic seemed to wither before it could take hold.

While resting by a shallow stream of eerily clear water, Arlen began piecing together what he had observed. "Nothing survives here," he muttered, running a hand through the water. It was icy cold, yet perfectly still, untouched by any signs of life. His mind wandered to the strange signs he had seen before entering the red zone—the warnings carved in the Empire’s language that he couldn’t read.

"They were telling people to stay out," he realized. "Because this place... kills them."

Arlen’s thoughts turned inward. He had always known he was different, his lack of magic a constant reminder that he didn’t belong in this world of glowing power and enchanted beings. Yet here, in the red zone, that difference was his salvation. He wasn’t affected by the overwhelming essence of magic that would tear apart any other living being. For the first time, his anomaly felt like a gift.

As days passed, Arlen tested his theory. He ventured deeper into the heart of the zone, observing the strange flora and terrain. He touched the crystalline trees, waded through streams that glowed faintly in the dark, and even lay on patches of shimmering ground that pulsed with energy. Nothing harmed him.

He spent nights experimenting, using his limited tools to understand the peculiar properties of the land. He tried cutting one of the crystalline trees, only to find that its branches melted into a viscous liquid when severed, evaporating into the air moments later. He attempted to light a fire using some of the peculiar grass but found that it refused to burn, instead releasing a faint hum before disintegrating into ash.

It all pointed to the same conclusion: this was a place where magic overflowed, saturating everything to the point of toxicity. For anyone else, it was death. For Arlen, it was sanctuary.

Sitting under the refracted light of the crystalline trees one evening, he made his decision. "I can live here," he said to himself, his voice steady. "At least for now. No one can reach me, and no one can hurt me."

But survival was still a challenge. The food he found was unlike anything he had eaten before—roots that tasted metallic, fruits that dissolved in his mouth like vapor, and streams of water that left a strange aftertaste. Over weeks of trial and error, he identified what could sustain him. He learned to recognize the subtle differences between edible plants and those that caused nausea or dizziness.

Though the red zone was harsh, it was consistent. Its dangers were predictable, unlike the chaos of war or the cruelty of men. And Arlen found a grim sort of peace in that.

For the first time since fleeing the battlefield, he felt safe. Here, he was untouchable.

And yet, even as he resolved to stay, a thought lingered in the back of his mind: What kind of place is this really? And why does it feel like it was waiting for me?