Ash stepped off the road.
The last signs of civilization faded behind him—the drone of cars, the flicker of neon, the invisible lattice of signals and noise. Ahead lay only trees, wind, and silence.
For the first time in weeks, he inhaled without tasting exhaust. The air here was crisp and carried the scent of bark, moss, and something deeper—something ancient. It wasn't just cleaner; it was alive. The forest didn't simply grow; it breathed.
Ash walked slowly, letting the soles of his boots sink into soil instead of pavement. With every step, a strange sensation unfolded: like the static in his mind—the tension he'd carried since childhood—was dissolving. His shoulders relaxed. His jaw unclenched.
He came upon a stream, clear and singing. Cupping the water in his hands, he drank deeply. The cold shocked his teeth but flooded his chest with something pure, almost electric.
"This," he thought, "is what it means to feel."
He sat by the water for hours, watching light filter through leaves. He didn't check the time. There was no need. The sun and shadows were his clock now.
Memories rose uninvited—moments of childhood curiosity, the scent of rain on hot concrete, the weight of his father's disappointment. Yet here, among moss and silence, even pain seemed to soften, like it was being composted into something fertile.
He removed his jacket, then his shirt. The breeze kissed his skin, and the sun warmed his back. He closed his eyes and simply breathed.
Each breath was no longer just exchange of air—it became communication. The forest exhaled; he inhaled. He exhaled; the forest received. It wasn't metaphor. It was real. He could feel it.
And as he leaned back on the earth, letting it hold him, a strange phrase emerged in his mind:
"To cleanse the body, still the breath.
To cleanse the breath, still the mind.
To cleanse the mind, return to the root."
Ash didn't know where the words came from. But he repeated them until the rhythm matched the stream. Until his heartbeat slowed. Until something within him—something old and waiting—began to stir.