THE FOREST OF THE UNKNOWN: THE SACRED TALE

Chapter 4

It was strange—almost laughable—that beings with such disjointed bodies, with legs facing opposite ends of the world, could move faster than any living creature I had ever seen. Faster than horses. Faster than birds. Faster than the eye could track. They walked like dancers, like liquid thought, like the wind when it chooses not to whisper but to howl without sound.

My heart skipped. My skin tightened. My breath caught somewhere between my ribs. They were coming—and I could feel it in my bones—that they came not by accident. Not by chance. They were here for me and for me alone.

I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. The way you know a storm is about to break even before the sky grumbles. The way you know someone is staring at you in a room full of silence. My admiration turned into unease. Not panic. Not yet. But unease—that quiet stir in the belly of your soul that tells you: something is about to change forever. And still, I could not move. Not because I was trapped. But because I was chosen. And maybe—just maybe—I wanted to know what came next. At that moment, I was terrified beyond words.

Frightening doesn’t even begin to describe it—I was drowning in fear, sinking beneath waves of dread that felt thicker than water. My body trembled, but not from cold. My soul shivered. My spirit recoiled. I felt fear leaking out of my skin like sweat, as though my clothes had been dipped in the calmest but most cursed sea. The fabric clung to my back, heavy with panic, soaked in a fear I could not contain.

For the first time that fateful day, I pitied myself. Not the world. Not the moon or the sun or the gods that danced above us. Just me. A lonely, helpless soul, trembling in a void I could no longer name.

There was no one to turn to. Nowhere that felt safe. Every direction stretched out into nothingness. Every path was swallowed by silence. There was no crackle in the leaves, no chirping of the birds, no shifting breeze. Not even the trees groaned. The world had folded in on itself, quieted to watch whatever was about to happen to me. I was alone—utterly, completely alone—in a way that I had never known aloneness before. It was as if the world had taken a deep breath and held it in suspense.

At that hour, more than anything, I wished my parents were with me. I wished for their arms, their presence, their voices—anything to remind me that I belonged to someone. That I mattered. That I wasn’t just a creature meant to be forgotten in this mysterious abyss.

Even though I knew it was useless, I called out their names. My mother first—her name clung to my throat, thick with grief. Then my father. My voice cracked, but I kept calling. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was madness. Who knows?

In times of unspeakable terror, even the most hopeless acts can feel like lifelines. But nothing changed. Nothing shifted. And the two figures—those impossible beings with twisted forms and unknowable eyes—never slowed. Never paused. Never turned their heads to acknowledge my plea. They were coming. And nothing in the heavens or on earth could stop them.

Their focus was chilling. They weren’t just moving—they were drawn. Pulled by purpose. Carried by something greater than speed. Greater than intention. I could see it in them. They had not come to choose. They had come to take.

I stood there, frozen, watching them glide toward me like shadows given breath. Each step they took erased every last hope I had clung to. I felt something within me break—some inner wall that had once held courage. It shattered like thin glass, and all that remained was acceptance.

I knew it was over. Whatever they were… whatever they had come for… it was me. And no one—no parent, no god, no voice—was coming to help. So I surrendered.

I closed my eyes. Let the silence wrap around me. Let the weight of fate press down on my shoulders. And I whispered a prayer—not for salvation, but for peace. A final prayer, raw and broken, uttered from a trembling mouth that still hoped, somehow, to be heard. I did not beg for life. I did not plead for escape. I simply asked, in the quietest voice my heart could manage, that whatever awaited me would come quickly… and be kind.

At that moment, they seemed to move even faster—like time had been bent to their will. Maybe it was because I was praying. Maybe it was because I had surrendered to fear. Or maybe it was just the illusion of a doomed mind—one that had begun to unravel in the face of death. Whatever it was, their speed became incomprehensible.

Everything felt accelerated. The world, my heartbeat, their movement—like the final few seconds before an explosion. My breath tightened. I clenched my eyelids together. If I was going to die, I didn’t want to see it happen. I had already given myself to fate—I had no more energy to resist, and no courage left to face the horror with my eyes open.