Many had once called themselves heroes.

  They entered the forest carrying tools, ambition, and the thought that they would only take a look.

  None of them ever came back.

  An elderly man approached her then, steadying the cup in her hands when the wine trembled.

  His voice was gentle, almost a sigh.

  “Child,” he said.

  “Don’t go.”

  “No matter how hard life becomes,

  nothing is more important than staying alive.”

  Arl did not answer.

  She sat at the edge of the firelight, listening as the song rose and fell, verse by verse.

  She memorized every warning woven into the melody, every pause where the voices lingered before continuing.

  She nodded to the villagers—not only for their kindness, but for the way they asked her to stay without demanding anything in return.

  Later, when the night deepened and voices faded, the fire dwindled to low embers.

  The scent of wine mixed with smoke and slowly dispersed into the air.

  Arl waited.

  She waited until breathing around her grew even,

  until the patrols no longer passed near the forest line.

  She had always been good at this.

  Leaving without drawing attention.

  Moving forward from places no one thought to watch.

  She circled the gathering site and slipped into a narrow cave entrance along the side, nearly forgotten beneath layers of vines.

  The opening was tight, the vegetation dense—almost deliberately concealing the passage.

  She brushed aside the tangled growth and pushed through.

  Inside, it was dark.

  She lit a torch. The flame danced across the stone walls, casting uneven shadows.

  She did not look back.

  Nor did she think about how much of the song remained unsung.

  She followed the method she trusted—step by step—deeper inside.

  When moonlight finally appeared again, she extinguished the torch.

  Before darkness closed around her, she memorized the surrounding contours.

  The air was damp, but there were no traces of smoke, no signs of repeated passage.

  This place bore no clear marks of human presence.

  She looked toward the cliff at her side.

  Within the shadows of the rock face, she could make out a shallow hollow—an indentation carved by time itself.

  Whether that was the path she sought, she couldn’t be sure.

  But if she wanted an answer, she would have to draw closer.

  As for why she had come here—

  The reason was simple.

  Among the old texts preserved at the Anda Temple, there was a fragmentary record that mentioned this place:

  The Kadanqiu Forest had once been the site of the Dunke Temple.

  Ordinarily, the location of a temple would be passed down through oral history, generation after generation.

  But Dunke was different.

  Its position existed only on the page.

  That was precisely why the Godmother had asked Arl to come herself.

  Not to prove a legend—

  But to leave behind something more reliable for the Anda people to follow.

  Before change arrived,

  they needed knowledge that had not yet been forced into use.

  That first exploration never reached the temple.

  Deep within the forest, the miasma grew too dense. Even brief exposure caused her breathing to slow and thicken.

  In that moment, Arl understood.

  This was likely why none of the others had ever returned.

  So she turned back.

  Not in surrender—but in preparation.

  She would return once she could respond to it.

  This time, when she came again, she was not alone.

  Because she had Veyra with her, Arl did not act recklessly.

  After days of observation, she discovered a concealed cave near the edge of the miasma.

  The terrain shielded it perfectly—airflow and humidity balanced just right, as though the land itself had preserved this place as a pocket of safety.

  She camped there for several days.

  She watched the weather shift, tracked the flow of the miasma, observed how plants and small creatures responded.

  Every detail was recorded, organized into a system of her own making.

  It was there that she let Veyra out of the cave.

  The moment Veyra’s paws touched the ground, the cub stopped.

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  Its body tensed slightly, nose quivering as it tested the air.

  It did not step forward.

  There was no urge to explore—only quiet vigilance.

  Arl noticed immediately.

  Veyra’s awareness of environmental change was far sharper than she had expected.

  It wasn’t fear, nor simple caution.

  It was judgment.

  An instinctive sense of which spaces could be approached—and which should not be crossed.

  That was not learned.

  It was innate.

  To confirm this, she tested it.

  She settled Veyra inside the cave, crouched down, and spoke calmly.

  “Veyra. Stay here.

  Wait for me.”

  Then she stepped away, stopping at a distance where she could observe without interfering.

  The result matched her expectation.

  Veyra did not follow.

  Nor did it show distress.

  It remained where it was, shifting position occasionally—appearing relaxed, yet never losing awareness of the cave entrance.

  Even when its eyes closed, the slightest sound of Arl’s footsteps near the boundary made them open at once, gaze locking precisely toward the opening.

  No extra movement.

  No sound.

  Just watching.

  The alertness was quiet—and fully awake.

  After confirming that Veyra could remain there, Arl did not leave immediately.

  She stood at the edge of the cave, looking out at the miasma beyond the natural barrier.

  The gray-white fog drifted slowly, like trapped breath, unable to cross the rock walls and wind channels that contained it.

  She opened her journal and quickly noted a few lines:

  —Stable wind direction

  —No expansion of miasma

  —No abnormal reaction inside the cave

  This place was safer than she had anticipated.

  Which made it the right starting point.

  She took out a small vial prepared in advance and turned it between her fingers.

  The clear liquid refracted faint color in the low light, betraying nothing unusual.

  She glanced once more toward the cave interior.

  Veyra lay quietly inside, eyes never leaving her.

  Arl did not move yet.

  Before entering the miasma, she needed to test the potion.

  She had asked Ke’er to prepare two diluted vials—not for protection, but for measurement.

  This time, she drank one, intending to observe how long she could remain lucid within the miasma.

  The liquid slid down her throat, faintly bitter and cool.

  Then she took out a vine and secured it between herself and the massive ancient tree outside the cave.

  Wrap. Knot. Pull. Test.

  It was not a guarantee—only a retreat path.

  If things went wrong, she would still have the option to withdraw.

  Before stepping forward, she gave Veyra the same instruction again.

  Veyra did not respond.

  It lay still, body relaxed but eyes open, watching her.

  It did not feel like vigilance.

  It felt like a wordless regard.

  Whether that was concern, she could not yet say.

  Arl did not look back again.

  She stepped into the miasma.

  At first, nothing changed.

  Her breathing remained steady.

  Her steps did not slow.

  Her thoughts stayed clear.

  As she moved forward, she calculated the vine’s length, estimating the farthest point from which she could still retreat.

  If luck favored her, she might find another isolated safe point within this range.

  She proceeded with that assumption.

  Then her foot caught on something protruding from the ground.

  She grabbed the tree trunk beside her in time, barely stabilizing herself.

  The jolt of fear lasted only an instant—but it disrupted her heartbeat.

  What troubled her wasn’t the stumble.

  It was her hand.

  She looked down.

  Her fingers tightened.

  Then loosened.

  The sensation arrived a beat late, as if her body were recalling the action after it had already happened.

  She frowned.

  And then—Veyra surfaced in her thoughts.

  Was it still waiting in the cave?

  Had it truly obeyed her words?

  Or had it… followed her into the miasma?

  They had not been together long.

  How could it fully listen to her—

  …Wait.

  Why was she thinking in terms of obedience?

  Veyra was simply Veyra.

  Not her subordinate. Not something to be commanded.

  Why, at this moment, was she repeatedly confirming these things?

  Before the thought could settle, a low, sharp sound broke through the fog.

  “Aww—”

  Arl’s body tensed before her mind caught up.

  Veyra?

  She turned.

  There was nothing in the mist.

  Yet the sound continued, intermittent calling.

  Calling who?

  Her?

  She hesitated—then tightened her grip on the vine.

  Reason told her to stop and assess.

  Her body had already turned toward the sound.

  She began to walk back.

  At first, her steps were steady.

  But soon, time itself grew indistinct.

  She could not tell how long she had walked, nor whether the ground truly moved beneath her feet.

  She followed the broken calls, one step at a time.

  “Aww…”

  The sound drifted—sometimes ahead, sometimes behind her.

  Her vision blurred. Her breathing grew uneven.

  The vine tugged at her side, reminding her that she was still connected—still had a way out.

  She blinked hard.

  She could not fall here.

  She knew that.

  Yet even the act of knowing was becoming difficult.

  Only one thought remained.

  —Go toward the sound.

  Then, abruptly, the air changed.

  The weight pressing against her chest vanished.

  Cold air rushed into her lungs, forcing a harsh cough.

  She did not even realize she had stepped beyond the miasma.

  Her vision went dark.

  Her body lost support.

  Before consciousness fully broke away, she felt something brush against her wrist—

  Followed by a pull.

  Not strong.

  But steady.

  And then—

  everything fell into silence.

  When she opened her eyes again, the uneven stone of the cave ceiling filled her vision.

  The familiar chill of damp air lingered, threaded with the faint scent of dried herbs.

  She was lying deeper inside the cave, her own outer cloak draped over her.

  There was weight against her side.

  Arl turned her head slightly.

  Veyra was curled beside her, pressed close, his breathing steady and calm.

  One foreleg rested lightly against her clothing, as if to confirm that she was still there.

  Arl didn’t move.

  She simply lay there, listening to the rhythm of their breathing.

  A thought surfaced, slow and quiet.

  —No matter who pulled whom, he hadn’t left.

  Something in her chest loosened.

  Arl thought that without Veyra—without that sound calling her back—she might have held on a little longer.

  Like she always had before.

  Pushing her body past its limits, collapsing somewhere nameless, waiting for consciousness to crawl back on its own.

  She had always survived.

  The process had never been gentle.

  She lowered her gaze, fingers brushing absently over the cloak covering her, confirming it was still hers.

  Then she reached out and rested her hand lightly on Veyra’s head.

  It wasn’t a reward.

  And it wasn’t comfort.

  It was simply—thanks.

  She didn’t know if Veyra understood.

  But she hoped he would.

  That somewhere, a voice had called her back—

  that idea, in itself, wasn’t a bad thing.

  After a while, Arl slowly sat up, breathing until the dizziness receded to something manageable.

  She reached for her journal and turned to the marked page.

  — Potion One, diluted.

  — Initial response delayed after entering miasma.

  — Sensory misalignment appears after sustained movement; time perception blurred.

  — First anomaly observed was not visual, but delayed tactile feedback and motor response.

  She paused, considering.

  It didn’t feel like poisoning.

  It felt more like her senses had been gradually stretched—

  body and awareness slipping out of sync.

  She added one final note beneath the others.

  — Basic judgment remains intact before full loss of mobility, but relies on external stimuli.

  Her pen stopped.

  She looked at Veyra.

  That line, she did not write down.

  She rolled the journal closed and rested it on her knees.

  The cave was quiet.

  Water dripped somewhere far off, the sound swallowed slowly by layers of stone.

  Veyra remained at her side, breathing evenly, the tip of his tail resting lightly against her leg.

  Arl sat there for a while, letting her heartbeat settle back into its usual rhythm.

  Then she hummed.

  At first, it was only a single note—unshaped, unintentional.

  It lingered briefly in her throat before continuing, forming a broken, halting melody.

  The tune was familiar.

  She couldn’t recall the full lyrics—only that fragment sung by the fire the night before, when people had sat together beneath the stars.

  It wasn’t loud.

  And it wasn’t sad.

  Just steady. Repeating.

  Like a reminder that one was still alive.

  She hummed softly, barely enough for herself to hear.

  The sound lingered in the cave for a moment, then was absorbed by the stone. No echo followed.

  The forest gave no reply.

  The miasma remained in the distance, like fog that did not belong here.

  Arl didn’t mind.

  She kept humming until the melody naturally unraveled, like a breath finally let out.

  Veyra shifted slightly, resting his head a little closer.

  Arl reached out, fingers brushing gently through his fur.

  That song had been meant to keep people from entering the forest.

  Now, it simply stayed with her—

  like a trace that didn’t need to be written down.