A new day begins. Not because I want it to—it just does. The dull light of early m spills over the temple entrance, and everything feels unbearably monotonous. Like I’m slowly dying from the monotony. The nightmares haven’t returned in the past few days, though, so that’s something. But boredom… it’s being unbearable.

  This boredom is my main problem. After what happe the river, Poma warned me not to waoo far. I stick close to the temple, where the cold stone walls and sparse vegetation remind me of both safety and fi. Yet, with no fainting spells or renewed nightmares, I feel restless—like a caged animal desperate to escape. I o do something.

  I recall how amazing this forest felt when I first arrived: vibrant flower fields bursting with color, and strange animals darting among the undergrowth. I want to visit those fields again. To see the peculiar creatures. To break the endless cycle of sameness. Instead, I sit at the temple entrance, watg the same grees and rown bushes with tired eyes. The leaves rustle softly in the breeze, their edges catg the sunlight like tiny shards of gold. It’s beautiful. But after days of looking at it, evey gets dull.

  My only “friend” here is Enyeka—who never speaks but stays by my side with silent loyalty. And Poma? She rarely remains in her physical form; our sparse versations mostly revolve around the local flora and fauna. She’s been fio this temple so long that she knows little of the world beyond its crumbling walls.

  I’m waiting for the people who might e today with s for Poma. The fruits oar are nearly gone from my stant snag, though Enyeka still finds enough food in the forest for both of us. My food supply is safe for now, but it’s growing thin.

  So, what now? Should I t the leaves again, try something else, or take another walk? Walking around the temple feels stale. Yesterday, I picked up a smooth, cold stone and carved some writing onto a ruined wall. I tried writing again—an act that felt both instinctive and wrong. Carving words inth stone reminds me of a people marking their presen caves, leaving their fleeting thoughts behind. Or is it just a habit?

  I used to write all the time: story ideas, random thoughts, shat I believed might form a good plot. But that’s over now. I have tet about being a writer and start fresh, though guilt creeps back like a ghost haunting my mind—or even my soul.

  Maybe I should run again. Run harder. Run farther... and maybe I’d finally be free of this endless monotony. I’ve thought about it before, and it won’t be the st time.

  I stand up from where I’ve been sitting and leave the temple. The boredom is suffog. I o move, to waste some time doing something other than staring at the same a stones and tangled vines. I begin my slow journey among ruins. One crumbling structure after another.

  I start to memorize each ruin, the way the ivy gs to weathered walls, the positions of fallen ns, and the narrow, winding path that leads back to the temple. I think I’ve got it dowy well.

  Should I go further? Maybe I’ll try to find that flower field again. It’s not that far, right? But should I tell Poma first? I don’t want to cause trouble. I’ve been holding back for days now, weighed down by endless boredom. Perhaps I just try it—if I get lost, I’ll find my way back here. As long as it isn’t too far, I should be able to return easily. It’s an iing thought.

  Should I go? There shouldn’t be any problems, right? As long as I know my limits.

  And so, my first adventure begins. Not the grand kind—no treasure to find, no world to save. Just a walk to kill boredom. If this were a story, the title might be something like "A Journey Against Boredom." Lame, right? Fits my writing skills perfectly.

  First, I try to figure out the dire I came from. If I look at the sun’s position, it should be east… right? But which way was east? And where was north? Wait... this ish. Does the sun even rise in the east here? I feel stupid for not thinking about it earlier. Then again, most stories I’ve read never bothered with details like the dire of the sunrise.

  Oh well. Maybe I should just trust my gut. This seems like the way I came from. My pn is simple: walk straight for about ten minutes. If I don’t find anything, I’ll turn back.

  “This pn is foolproof,” I mutter to myself. My voice barely audible over the soft ch of dry leaves underfoot.

  Oh well. Maybe I should trust my gut. I choose the dire that feels right and start walking. Slowly, I s the trees and swaying grass around me, choosing paths that have fewer obstacles. For the first three minutes, nothing unusual happens. I still see the familiar silhouette of the ruins and the temple behiheir outlines softened by the gentle m mist. After five minutes, I feel like I haven’t gone far enough, so I pick up my pace a little, my footsteps g on scattered gravel and dry leaves.

  By ten minutes, I find… nothing. Just the same endless forest, its dense greenery stretg out without ge. A few birds flit over my head, their chirps eg softly, but there are no flower fields, no surprises. Only the persistent samehat leaves me disappointed.

  “Yep, time to go back,” I say, turning around arag my steps along a narrow, leaf-strewn path. The damp earth squishes softly under my feet, and I smell the faint musk of deg leaves. So far, nothing seems to g.

  Then I hear a rustling from the bushes. A low, restless sound like an angry animal. From the distant silhouette, the creature appears rge. At first, I think of a tiger or maybe a wolf. I recall Poma mentioning predators in the Rossa Forest. Like the Arik—a type of wolf that is rare, nomadid hardly ever stays in one pce. A surge of fear creeps in. What if it’s an Arik? Regret fres in my chest. Perhaps I should’ve just stayed iemple. I mutter to myself hret always es at the end. How stupid I must be.

  Then slowly, the animal emerges. Its body is lean, with thin brown fur that bristles in the early light. But its head is oversized and it sports a bizarre feature—a trunk, almost like an elephant’s. Or perhaps resembling a tapir’s snout. A small horn juts from its forehead, adding to its surreal appeara feels as though I’ve stumbled into a creature straight out of a video game like Spore.

  The animal grunted. It sounded angry. At me? Why?

  Before I ponder further, it charges. No time to think. I turn around and bolt, stig to the pn—only this time, I have to run. Fast. Because the beast chasing me looks... furious.

  I race from tree to tree, dodging through bushes and over uneven grass. The forest seems to blur as time races alongside me, and I ’t shake the feeling that I’m running in circles. Was it me, or does this forest look identical everywhere?

  Slowly, I realize the strange animal isn’t chasing me anymore. Now… where am I? I try to run in what I believe is a straight line. Aiming to return to the familiar ruins and temple. I question my sense of dire I terrible at this, or are my eyes pying trie? I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, sihing is chasing me now. I slow down, hoping to gather my thoughts.

  I keep walking, yet every step feels as if I’m stu an ereadmill. Something about this path feels off—like an anomaly remi of the stras at the river. At least my shadow is still there, faithfully following me as I move my hands or shift my weight. I run my fingers over the crass and brambles; their texture is real enough. This isn’t a dream. I haven’t passed out and slipped into anhtmare.

  “Thank goodhis isn’t a nightmare,” I say. Relief washing over me as I exhale sharply.

  But then, suddenly, a strange voice echoes from nowhere:

  “Who says it’s not?”

  I freeze and look around. The forest remains silent and still; I’m alone. Where did that voie from? Is someone. Or something here? Perhaps a ghost? My heart starts rag, each beat louder tha, and that familiar sense of uurns.

  “Who’s there?” I call out. Sing the dense undergrowth and shadowed trees for any sign of movement.

  I vince myself that there must be someone nearby. A hidden presehat has to be it. Right? Just then, the voice speaks again, closer now:

  “Look down.”

  My gaze falls to my feet, and I’m startled to see that my shadow has vanished. It’s as if it’s been erased from the ground. My fear spikes. It feels as though something malevolent has e to devour me.

  My mind races. That must mean… the nightmare is back.

  “Why are you afraid? Haven't you always been alone? What does a mere shadow mean to you, loner?” the voice taunts. Its tone mog.

  “Who are you?” I demand, desperate for answers. I o know if this is really my dream. Or if another entity is at work here. The world around me is steeped in Lovecraftian horror, after all. Could this be ected to that mysterious card I hold?

  “Does it matter who I am? That’s not important. What about you? Who are you? Do you even have an answer for that?” the voice fires back. Challenging me.

  I’m fused and uled. Why am I being questioned? Shouldn’t I be the one asking? I begin to doubt whether this is merely a nightmare or something more—something hidden behind yers of mystery, tied to my status as the chosen one and to that ominous dream card I clutch. It’s no ce that nightmares hauhe card itself is a dream card. Makes sense, right? I start to see a pattern f.

  “Is this reted to the dream card thing?” I ask in a provocative torying to draw out some truth.

  I squint into the dim light and notiething. A bck shadow far aartially hidden behind a gree trunk. It stands motionless, watg me with glowing red eyes that pierce the darkness. The shape feels familiar, and as I focus, I see its mouth. A long, forked tongue, resembling brang tentacles, flig slightly.

  Then the voice reappears, softer yet insistent:

  “Does your dream have any meaning to you??”

  My heart thunders in my chest as I stare at that eerie figure, the surreal details etched into my mind as the forest grows quieter, the only sound the rapid beating of my own pulse.

  ...

  “Does our dream mean anything to you?”

  ….

  “Does my dream mean anything to you?”

  ...

  My body seems to freeze for a moment...

  My head hurts too at the same time...

  My heart is also beating faster...

  ...

  “Don't run away from me. Don't leave me. Alone.”

  The voice is low and raspy, almost guttural, scraping against my ears like nails h sto sends shivers down my spine, cold aric. Of course, I’m not stupid enough to listen to him. I run as hard as I . Don’t care which way. The most important thing is to run. As fast as possible. As strong as I .

  Breaking through trees, their branches whip at my fad arms, leaving stinging scratches that burn with every step. Then bushes, thid tangled. Cw at my legs as if trying to hold me back. I push past them anyway, ign the sharp twigs digging into my skin. The st of crushed leaves and damp earth fills the air, heavy and cloying, ging to me like a sed yer.

  I pass them all. But then…

  “AHHHH... AHHHH AHHHH... AHHHH AHHHH... AHHHH AHHHH... AHHHH...”

  A loud scream echoes from behind. I don’t turn my head. Don’t look back. Just run. And run. But where? Where should I go? I don’t know. Just move without dire. Without a clue. The forest floor is uneven, roots twisting like gnarled fingers beh my feet. My breath es in ragged gasps, eahale burning my throat.

  “DO NOT LEAVE ME ALONE...”

  The vois again, louder this time. Pierg. It feels like needles stabbing into my ears, making my whole body flinch. My heart pounds so hard it drowns out every other sound—except for the y footsteps on the dry ground.

  Unfortunately, my bad luck kicks in. I trip over a root hidden under a pile of dead leaves, falling hard onto the ground. My palms scrape against the rough earth. My head throbs, pain radiating from the base of my skull. My feet ache, but especially my khey’re scraped raw, and warm blood trickles down my shins, sticky a.

  “Damn why,” I scream, my voice hoarse and trembling.

  Where is my plot armor? Is this because my bad luck is strohis isn’t the treatment of a main character. But more like a disposable side character.

  I gnce down at my hands, dirt caked under my nails, tiny bits of gravel embedded in my skin. The metallig of blood mingles with the earthy smell of the forest floor. My legs feel heavy, muscles screaming in protest as I try to push myself up.

  As I try to get up and steady my legs, I notiething. The screams are gone. I don’t hear them anymore. Was he not chasing me? I don’t want to think too long about it. I just focus on standing up slowly. Then I start walking away. My legs hurt from running, so I walk slowly, with a limp. Using the trees arouo help bance myself, their rough bark pressing into my palms as I lean on them for support.

  A few moments ter, I’ve walked quite far. Even with a limp, I force myself to move fast. As fast as I . While enduring the pain. Especially in my khey feel like they’re going to fall off, each step sending sharp jolts of agony through my body. But when I feel safe enough, I stop for a moment. Lean against a rge tree, its trunk cool and damp against my back. I my dirty, dusty wound with the edge of my shirt, wing as the fabric brushes over raw skin. Blood smears across the cloth, dark red against faded gray.

  “HELLO.”

  The voies again, louder this time, reverberating in my ears like thuhen I see it...

  The shadow is beh me. ging bae. Like a parasite. It moves unnaturally, writhing and shifting, its edges blurry, as if it’s made of smoke but somehow solid at the same time.

  I ge my mind and run again. Although limping, I ignore my pain and push forward, running as hard as I . It feels like time has stopped. And I’m trapped in it. Trapped in hell.

  “DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE.”

  The screams echo again, pierg and deafening. Each word vibrates in my skull, making my head throb even more.

  I keep running. Don’t look back. But I’m out of breath. My legs grow weak. Blood drips steadily from my knees, staining the ground in small, dark splotches that glisten faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees. I feel like I’m about to colpse. Then something grabs my hand and pulling me back. It feels wet, sticky, like slime. But soon, a burniion spreads through my skin. Hot and searing, like acid eating away at my flesh. I force myself to look back.

  There it is. That horrifying shadow.

  Pitch bck. Small tentacles wriggle all over its body, twitg and curling like restless snakes. Its mouth is wide open, torn and gaping, jagged edges stretg impossibly wide, like it could swallow me whole.

  “WHY DO YOU ALWAYS RUN AWAY? DO YOU WANT TO DIE?”

  The shadow screams in front of me, its voice scraping against my eardrums like nails on gss. Death feels close. Too close. Like it’s about to devour me.

  “IT LOOKS LIKE YOU REALLY WANT TO DIE.”

  Suddenly, it lets go of my hand. I fall. But strangely, I don’t hit the ground. Instead, I float for a moment, suspended in midair, before beginning to fall slowly. In an instant, I realize I’m free-falling. And then I see it—I’m on the edge of a cliff. So, the shadow had been holdihis whole time.

  Why? Shouldn’t it be a monster? Shouldn’t it want to devour me?

  Why am I suddenly on the edge of a cliff? Why didn’t I see it before?

  Someone… please tell me…

  Am I going to die? The cliff looks high. Time seems to slow down. Is this what it feels like to die slowly? At least I want it to end quickly. Painless. I y eyes.

  But the shadow… It seems to keep watg me. Did it have something to say? Why was it chasing me? What did I d? Why was it haunting me?

  Thehing goes bck. Ay. Again.

  EYA