Valen was not one for heart-felt goodbyes, so after finishing his light and early lunch, he waved one last goodbye to Elder Caruse and stepped out of the Library for the first time in months.
The Sun was much brighter than he remembered, and the air was so much fresher, lacking the stale dampness of the depths of the stone citadel. The vibrant greens of grass and leaves were much brighter than the muted greens that came from dyed leather. There were many people shuffling along the busy streets, like ants maneuvering around their hive. Carriages and Man-pulled rickshaws occasionally broke up the hordes of bodies in the streets.
Valen vaguely remembered the direction he had to go in, and began to duck and push through the crowds. After nearly being crushed under the wheels of a few carriages, and getting turned around more than once, Valen gazed up at the sun in the sky.
'Tsk, I keep getting corralled in the wrong direction. Why is it so damn hard to just go north?! How dare these baboons call the Library a maze! The City Planners must have believed themselves to be Labyrinth Builders!'
The North of the Heartlands sluggishly dissolved from a much more urban city to more residential neighborhoods. Eventually, if someone followed the edges of the Heartlands to the north, they would reach the Path of the Northern Family, The Dupere's.
Valen had no intention of starting from an offshoot of the Dupere territory, instead he would travel a bit farther to the west, where he believed an untouched but difficult to enter path laid. Travelling a seemingly anomaly-filled path alone seemed like a recipe for disaster, but he didn't care all too much.
Half past noon, Valen finally emerged from a back alley that he accidentally wandered into, a peculiar view filled his vision. A Hazy mist lay just a handful of kilometers away from the raised balcony, its rusted red railing indicating the end of the settled Heartlands. Many path markers littered the empty strip of land that lay between the Misty Fog and the Heartland Border. They varied from piles of stones, to small flags, to well-forged blades protruding hulking stones. Valen suppressed the urge to try and dislodge one of the trapped blades, confused by the waste of good steel, however it seemed disrespectful.
While Valen knew that they were Path Markers, he also knew that the foot paths that should have accompanied them were brushed away by time, which meant they were essentially gravestones. While Valen may have been a pragmatic utilitarian, he wasn't about to start disrespecting the dead for no reason. That was a fast-track to being haunted by vengeful spirits.
The concept of a Path Marker was also strange to Valen. Why would anyone leave any information behind about their path? Even the Founding Families hid the paths that their main and branch families used. If one was lucky enough, they might be able to find one of their Servant Paths, but that required being a promising prospect and enough luck to be scouted.
Valen did not intend on leaving a mark behind, however he still hesitated when looking at the expanse of random remembrances.
Not too far away from his projected entrance, a lone figure stood in front of one of the more impressive blades. Their Eyes glued to its hilt and pommel, a torment of emotions could be felt lurking in their gaze. Due to the distance, Valen could not make out many of their details, primarily due to the gray shroud concealing their figure. Judging by their height, and their reaction to the grave, Valen suspected the individual must be quite young. Quite possibly only a year or two older than him.
What separated the two was a seemingly intangible quality, their Presence. Even subdued by a mysterious gray shroud which rippled in the faint breeze, their presence seemed out of place. The area was by no means a very wealthy area, vagabonds and tramps were frequently found on these side streets. Hardly anyone from this area would have access to such a large wool cloak.
Valen was hesitant to press forward, despite knowing that he needed to get as far as he could before midnight in order to increase his chances of finding his prepared destination. He looked back up into the sky, watching the sun slowly drift over him, testing his determination.
Valen glanced up and down the unkept side street, looking at the miserable few who had fled to the edge of the massive city in search of a hint of solace. He felt his hesitation and doubt that crept up his throat begin to recede.
'I cannot become like them. I refuse to rot away in these streets. I will either succeed or die, I have no reason to choose another path.'
Nothing was left for him here. He had thrown everything he had into his preparations, all that was left was to test his mettle in the flames of chaos and destiny.
Ignoring the mourning figure, Valen began to descend the exit ladder, lowering himself to the ground of the dangerous realm. His mind was crystal clear, and his body only creaked slightly, overall he felt pretty good.
Feeling the soft dirty turn under his weight, he studied the foreign ground. Most of the Heartlands was covered in paved roads, massive stone tiles, or wooden floorboards; Soft and fresh dirt like this was quite uncommon, any dirt patches would have been compacted down under the foot of many men and beasts.
His gaze turned away from the cobbled stone wall that held the raised ground of the heartlands above the topsoil of its earth, instead he looked at the protruding tips that sprouted above the fog in the distance. An ever changing forest laid just past the border of the fog, that was the threshold between the certain and uncertain. With measured steps, his leather sandals parted the sparse tufts of grass, feeling the light soil slide between his soles and sandals.
As the mist grew closer, and the dampness seeped into the air, Valen noticed the figure had turned away from the grave. Their steady gaze had locked onto the moving target instead, piercing his linen robe and body, searching the core of his soul. Valen turned his head to observe the figure in turn, but was only left with a confused expression on his face. He couldn't see past the hem of their cloak, which made it seem as if a Shade had taken residence inside.
A soft but unrecognizable voice whispered into his ears: "Do you know the risks of entering at this time, Ascetic?"
'Ascetic?'
Taking a second to review his current appearance, a frown found its way onto his face.
'I guess a linen robe and a ceremonial cord would leave a wrong impression. However, they surely have some nerve to make assumptions wearing that garb…'
"I do… Wraith?" His once raspy voice finally sounded like it had found its place amongst the sounds of this world, his breath unburdened, and his volume could finally be heard by those with mundane hearing.
The Wraith paused, their head turning as they glanced down at their cloak. "Peculiar."
The two stood several meters apart, simply looking at each other. Neither made a move, seemingly sizing the other up, or analyzing the other's body for any tells.
"You are injured, yet you seek out danger willingly. Do you simply wish to die? I can offer you a much more merciful end, no one should have to die in the confines of this miserable fog."
Valen only grew more confused after hearing their words. To most, dying on one's path was tragic but a desired fate. Most even believed that dying one one's path was normal, and that eventually even those who returned would set out once more to fulfill their destined end. Yet, this 'wraith' felt pity for those who perished on their journeys. Considering their choice of place to mourn, Valen quickly realized the sad truth that laid within those words.
"I have lost everything in the Heartland. I have nothing left within those lands. So, all that is left for me is to face the fate that lays ahead of me."
The wraith was not quick to reply, not even move. Their breath seemed almost frozen as well.
"Well good luck then, young ascetic. I pray you find what you seek in the mist."
With those harrowing last words, the wraith turned to the mist and swiftly became enveloped into it, disappearing from the world.
Valen contemplated the Wraith for a moment more before shrugging and turning back to the mist that laid in front of him. Deep breaths filled his core with air, pushing out any impurities that laid in his mind. He could not become distracted with the whimsical nature of the young wraith-like figure. His senses must be on alert, and his body must be quick to respond. Perilous and Unknown dangers laid beyond this border, and while he had his theories, he had no clue about what actually was within these frayed edges of the world.
Valen took step after step, disregarding the moist air licking his exposed, focusing on the strange sensations attacking his undeveloped senses. It felt like the fog was condensing, constantly changing its form of matter, indecisive of its original state. The Rules of Reality seemed diluted, yet they seemed dangerously volatile. It was only after walking roughly a kilometer into the misty fog that Valen finally felt the storied and infamous sensation.
It was like something was pulling on the essence of his existence, guiding him between the gaps in the worlds, like a faint golden string pulling from the core of his body. He knew that it was the world forming his path, it was taking shape, mending reality and anchoring it to the space that he occupied. Then the mist suddenly vanished, leaving a sprawling expanse of towering trees.
An Unfamiliar Forest seemed revolted by the young man's appearance, seemingly unsatisfied with the quality of the Pathfinder. So it simply ignored his presence, deeming such a useless individual not worth its response. Valen was not one to complain, if the mysterious forest deemed him unimportant, that would only ease his difficulty of travel.
He scanned the bark patterns, the leaf shapes, and various types of shrubbery. He searched for any hint of recognizable species qualities, attempting to see the truth of the world he was entering. His Mental Library was being upturned in mere seconds of starting on his path, flying through pages of Flora Encyclopedias and Wilderness Survival Guide Books. The Flora was unable to properly match up with any officially recorded observations.
Coming to the conclusion that while the flora was absolutely foreign, but still rather benign, a grin crept its way onto Valen's lips. "It would seem that we are already starting off on the right foot."
If Valen had been able to identify anything within this forest, it would have meant he immediately failed in his original goal of finding an untapped realm. While it wouldn't be the end of the world for most, Valen was worn down and had become greedy, uncompromising in his desire for his promised power.
Not in any hurry, Valen took his time observing the plant life within this strangely aware forest. The Trees seemed healthy and strong, their branches would become good material for various tools. The grassy fibers seemed oddly resilient, almost like every blade of grass fought for the right to stand in this forest. In fact, the Forest seemed more alive than most were; Valen couldn't perceive any strange meaning to its liveliness, not even a hint of malice.
'Does the Forest really think I am too weak to be a threat?'
As Valen failed to rip any grass from the healthy soil, he began to realize that the lively Forest was probably right. Stumped, he began to shift his weight out of discomfort.
'Surely the Living Forest is a strong but benevolent ruler, who understands that I have no ill will. Surely it isn't because it's far too strong to worry about an ant like me, leaving me as scraps to entertain the true beasts of this forest…'
Unsuccessfully collecting any materials to prepare himself for an expedition, Valen moved further into the forest. Steadily moving from tree to tree, observing his surroundings in depth, trying to discover its truths.
There was a surprising lack of beast tracks, which was certainly a cause for concern. Little would be worse for Valen than walking directly into a dangerous beast's hunting grounds. He lacked the ability to climb or run effectively, hoping to dodge dangerous predators with keen insight and using the warnings the land gave him. Unfortunately, Valen's alarm bells were ringing at full volume.
'This isn't good. There is too little here. No signs, no clues, nothing to use to formulate a hypothesis. All I have is the faint pull of the path to guide me…Not good at all.'
Valen knew the second he disregarded caution his demise would swiftly follow. Feeling the Pull of the Path, Valen fought against the desire to break into a full sprint and escape the disturbing forest. Even if such a commotion would draw unwanted attention, he felt that he should regardless.
'How strange. That thought is extremely unlike myself… Abandoning caution with no evidence. Perhaps it is the lack of evidence that is driving my intuition up the wall…'
He scanned his actions since entering the forest, scouring his mental replay for a hint. Every step he had taken seemed measured and within the normal procedures he would take when entering a foreign place. Never abandoning caution, remaining alert and constantly observing his surroundings, attempting to find tools to turn the odds in his favor. It was all perfectly normal, but something still made him shiver under the linen of his robe.
Only once he realized his mistake did the world begin to dim. His senses warped, his center of balance shifted suddenly, and his legs crumpled under his weight. Voices surged in his ears, unfathomable voices, speaking words he couldn't understand. The Voices tore at his mind, overwhelming his consciousness, draping a veil between his body and mind.
Then he was left utterly alone, blind, deaf, and unable to control his weak body, laying on the floor of the Living forest.