The trees stretched endlessly, their gnarled roots twisting through the earth like veins. The air was thick, damp with the scent of moss and decaying leaves. There was no path. No sound beyond the soft crunch of the child's footsteps and the distant whisper of unseen things moving just out of sight.

They had been walking for what felt like hours. Maybe longer. Maybe time didn’t move here the same way. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, as if the forest itself was breathing—watching.

Then, the light began to shift. Shadows stretched where they shouldn’t. A chill ran down the child’s spine. They were not alone. A branch above them creaked, though there was no wind. Behind them, the path they had come from was… gone. Trees had shifted, closing in, reshaping the land itself. Trapping them.

And then— eyes. Not human. Not animal. Unblinking. Watching from the bark, from the leaves, from the darkness between the trees. They were everywhere. A voice followed, low and steady, as if the forest itself was speaking.

"You have wandered too far."

A shadow moved, shifting unnaturally through the trees. The child could see no form, no true shape—only the suggestion of something vast, something waiting just beyond the veil of sight. A root curled at their feet, not grabbing, not harming— guiding. Turning them toward a narrow opening between the trees, where faint light shimmered in the distance.

"Come." The voice did not demand. It did not plead. It simply was.

The forest had decided.