The forest wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. At least, that’s what Suguru had told you when you first set foot beneath its canopy. Just a shortcut, he’d said. Quicker than following the road around the mountain. You’d trusted him — of course you had. His voice carried that calm conviction that always steadied you, even when unease stirred in your gut.

But the woods weren’t kind. They were endless. The trees pressed in close, their branches clawing at the sky and blotting out the stars. You’d kept close to him at first, his black robes brushing against your arm as he led you deeper into the dark.

Until you weren’t close anymore.

One moment his footsteps were steady just ahead of yours, the next they were gone. Swallowed whole by the silence. You’d called his name, the sound swallowed by the trees, and for a heartbeat you could have sworn you heard him answer. But when you ran toward the voice, there was nothing.

That was hours ago. Or maybe minutes — the forest warped time, stretching it thin until you couldn’t tell one from the other. Your throat burned from shouting. Your hands shook as you pushed branches aside, the shadows twisting into shapes that weren’t there.

Then, through the trees, you saw him.

Relief hit first, sharp and dizzying, and you stumbled forward with his name on your lips—only to falter as he stepped into the moonlight.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

His eyes caught the light. Glassy. Animal-like. Reflecting the moon the way a predator’s might. Empty. Unblinking.

“...Suguru?” you whispered, your voice small against the vast, hungry silence.

He tilted his head at the sound, the movement jerky, too sharp. His lips curved into something that wasn’t a smile, wasn’t anything human at all.

Every instinct screamed at you to run, to leave this thing in the forest where it belonged. And yet—you stayed rooted. Because it was him. Because you wanted it to be him.

But deep down, you knew.

The forest hadn’t lost him.

It had given him back.