He sets the cup before me. I don't find it suspicious—the tea is the only logical thing since arriving in this place. I sip without hesitation, unable to suppress the laughter bubbling up from within.
Vika: "Is there something amusing you'd care to share?"
A: "No offense, but this can't be real. I'm drinking tea in some unknown place with a chatty flying lantern wearing a hat. I must have lost my mind. I've heard schizophrenia can escalate to this level."
Vika: "Quite the contrary. Would you like me to cure your doubt?"
A: "Haha, sure. How exactly?"
Vika: "Touch my probe!"
I comply with cold composure, but my false confidence crumbles instantly. Electricity courses through my body, crawling beneath my skin, threading through muscle fiber. Scattered stings pierce my extremities. The lantern withdraws his probe.
I rise into the air.
I'm floating. Actually floating in the air.
The sensation lasts only seconds, but it shatters any notion that I'm dreaming or insane. Then I plummet straight to the ground. The pain is very real.
Vika: "Beautiful, isn't it? Floating with an electrified body? Now, to the heart of our matter—what's your name? Where did you come from?"
I stare at him with the blank expression of someone who simply doesn't know.
Vika: "You don't have a name?"
I nod, confirming his guess.
Vika: "Very well. I'll call you 'A' to ease our communication. This situation is strange even for a flying lantern."
A: "Fine."
Vika: "Tell me what happened before I arrived. Everything you remember."
A: "I woke up in an old, rusted car. Decided to explore this place on foot. No matter how hard I try, I can't remember my name or who I am. Just... feelings, stuck deep in my heart. While wandering, I found abandoned houses covered in red roses. Then, without warning, I froze in place. Had some kind of vision—dim lights and voices mourning over me."
I pause, the memory still vivid and unsettling.
A: "After recovering enough to walk, I tried to return to where I started. That's when massive branches dragged the car away, into the forest you came from."
Vika: "Car? You mean a square metal contraption with circular objects that rotate around their circumference?"
A: "Yes. Don't you know what a car is?"
Vika: "It's not from my world. But I've heard wishes speak of such things. More importantly, something hurled it toward me before I came here. That's why I came to investigate."
A: "What do you mean... 'not from my world'?"
Vika: "Listen carefully. I know this will sound insane, but you can understand this place's nature. Simply put, it's different from the world travelers like you come from. We call your kind 'passing wishes.' But here's what's strange—every passing wish I've encountered before knew exactly who they were and where they came from. They were also much smaller, younger. What you people call 'children.' But you..."
He circles me, studying my form.
Vika: "You're larger, more aware. Black hair covers parts of your face and chest. You have a solid, muscular build. By my standards, you're an anomaly."
A: "Honestly, I don't understand any of this."
Vika: "You mentioned seeing red roses earlier. And a dream containing rose petals."
A: "Yellow lights reflecting off black clouds in a dark night. Red snow falling—except it turned out to be red rose petals."
Vika: "That explains why the roots were behaving so strangely. He's the one who wanted you here. Still testing his theory, it seems."
A: "Who wanted me here? Testing what theory?"
Vika: "A passing wish cannot see red roses or possess your size. The root guards haven't been this agitated in years. I'm certain this is his doing. And I have no desire to interfere with someone so vastly more powerful than myself."
A:anger flashing "Who brought me here?!"
Vika: "The One Who Runs to Flowers."
A: "The One Who Runs to Flowers?"
Vika: "I lack the authority to speak his true name. We know only that he wields the power of 'Running to Flowers'—an ability that can alter the outcome of any battle. I don't exaggerate when I say his strength is beyond measure."
A: "I have no idea who you're talking about. The Runner... Flowers?"
Vika: "With your unusual condition, I can't guarantee much. But you must follow the path of wishes."
A: "To where?"
Vika: "I'll open the path of wishes for you. You must reach The One Who Runs to Flowers quickly. Since you collapsed before I arrived, time is running short."
A: "I'm running out of time?"
Vika: "Typically, wishes feel no pain. But you carry heavy, troubling emotions. Your body has already failed you once. You need to hurry and meet him."
A: "Fine, but why the rush? I barely understand what you've told me. I need more time to process this!"
Vika: "I understand your confusion. The journey ahead will give you plenty of time to think. Now, step back."
Vika rises from his seated position, moving forward and angling toward the forest's right side. Four of his probes extend skyward as his body lifts slightly off the ground. In the distance, black clouds shimmer with random flashes of light. The wind that had been howling moments before falls silent.
Vika: "Lantern Storm—Lightning Spear!"
A colossal lightning bolt, shaped like a spear, crashes into the heart of the opposing forest. The earth beneath us convulses from the tremendous impact. Trees sway and buckle—even the thickest trunks cannot withstand the force. The sounds assault my ears: snapping wood, exploding stone, all drowned beneath the roar of escalating electrical current.
The lightning spear's radiance is blinding. The forest transforms from dark, menacing thickets into a mass of searing light. Stunned, I can only watch as the brilliance overwhelms my vision. I clamp my eyes shut and shield them with my arms, but the electric current continues building.
The impact force hits me like consecutive tsunami waves. My body slides backward. I can no longer maintain my footing. Just as I'm about to surrender to this overwhelming power and let it hurl me away, the intensity begins to weaken.
Moments later, the lightning's glow fades enough for me to open my eyes. The assault ends, and the forest atmosphere returns to its previous state.
Where the strike landed, a revelation emerges.
A massive wall stretches before us, built from brilliant yellow bricks and mortared with hardened, light brown clay. Cracks and deep gouges scar its surface—not mere scratches, but battle wounds that speak of countless conflicts survived. At its center stands a colossal copper door, its height dwarfing even the imposing wall that frames it.
I find myself absorbed in examining the door's surface. Symbols and scripts cover it entirely—strange, arrow-like markings that seem to belong to another world entirely. Interlocking decorations weave together, creating three-dimensional patterns. Two opposing feathers curve toward each other like facing arcs, each adorned with randomly distributed plumage along their length. The space between them forms a five-sided shape, more curved than angular. At the apex of each feather, teardrop shapes complete the mysterious design.