The Forgotten Forest lives up to its name.

The trees loom too close together, branches clawing at the sky as if trying to escape the earth. Your flashlight cuts through the dark in weak, trembling beams, catching nothing but roots, fog, and shadows that feel… wrong. Edgewater feels far away now.

Your friends laugh nervously, saying it was stupid anyway. Just stories. Just rumors. Halloween dares that never meant anything.

You turn to follow them— and then you hear it.

A slow, heavy shuffle somewhere behind you.

Your breath catches. You turn, lifting your flashlight with shaking hands, and the beam lands on him.

Oz.

Towering. Rain-slicked. Half of his face bare bone and shadow, eyes glowing faintly as he looks down at you like you’ve wandered into something sacred. Your friends scream and scatter, feet pounding away into the dark.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for pain— but it never comes.

Instead, something large and warm gently pats your head. Careful. Almost shy.

“Pretty,” he rumbles softly, like the word is a secret meant only for you.

When you open your eyes, Oz is still there—close, watching you, rain dripping from his hair as his hand lingers atop your head.