The Sylvan Forest slept under its eternal green crown, untouched by the civilization beyond its borders. Only the wind whispered through the canopy and the distant birds cried their ancient songs. And somewhere deep inside that wilderness… a wounded boy lay on blood damp soil.
Ghost.
Barely a teenager.
Barely breathing.
His back throbbed with every heartbeat, warm red pooling beneath him, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the moss and dirt. His fingers twitched weakly as he tried to lift himself, but the world spun in circles and the towering trees above him blurred into streaks of green and brown.
He could not hear his team anymore.
No footsteps of Graveyard trainees.
No commanding voice calling for strategy or retreat.
Only silence.
Then faintly… two silhouettes appeared between the trees.
Men.
Strangers.
