"Oftentimes, it is said that having another person's memories inside of your head can be like splitting your brain into two or three segments, which is often done while attuning towards the Enchantment Channel. They're wrong."
-From the Records of Ashenborne, 23.
The boy trudged away from the riverbank, his steps were uneven and groggy. His legs were aching unimaginably with every movement, a dull, persistent pain that seemed to deepen the farther he went. The soft sound of the damp earth underneath his foot was the only sound accompanying him. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a relentless reminder of his injury.
The forest around surrounded him , its towering trees stretching skyward like ancient pillars holding up a dark and ancient ceiling. Their trunks twisted unnaturally, their bark rough and overtaken with patches of moss. The canopy above was thick, blocking out most of the light.
What little sunlight filtered through came in fragmented beams, dappling the ground in pale, shifting patches.
It was quiet.
Not just the absence of human noise, but a deeper, unnatural silence. The boy knew that this was unusual even for forests, there seemed to be barely any signs of wild life.
The boy felt the stillness, but it didn't unsettle him. He pushed it away to back of his still throbbing mind, It was like studying a strange landscape in a painting, unfamiliar, yes, but not inherently threatening. Or at least he didn't feel threatened.
His gaze swept across the trees as he walked. He was alert, his eyes catching every flicker of movement, every shifting shadow.
Not out of fear, he didn't quite feel that, but because it was practical. He didn't know this place, didn't know what might be lurking. Awareness was one of the best ways to ensure survival.
His head throbbed again, sharp and insistent, and he paused to press a hand against his temple. The pain was constant, a drumbeat in his skull that refused to let him forget how vulnerable he was. Yet even as his body ached and his mind spun, he felt no dread.
The forest stretched endlessly before him, the shadows between the trees deepening as the sunlight waned. He moved carefully, his steps deliberate, though his footing wasn't always sure.
Each time his foot sank into the soft ground or snagged on a root, he corrected himself without hesitation.
As he walked, a flicker of something unfamiliar brushed the edges of his mind. It wasn't a thought or memory of his own—it was someone else's. A name surfaced, unravelling in his mind: Daniel Forrester. He stopped, frowning as a face appeared in his mind's eye. Young but worn, with sharp features and eyes that carried too much weight for their years.
The boy shook his head, more out of habit than frustration. "Not now," he murmured under his breath, his voice low and steady. The words felt automatic, like he'd said them a hundred times before.
He didn't feel threatened by the memory, but he didn't welcome it either. It was an intrusion, something foreign that didn't belong to him.
The thoughts receded, leaving him with a strange emptiness. He didn't dwell on it. There were more immediate concerns.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, he stumbled into a clearing. The trees parted here, and the open sky stretched out above him, its hues shifting from fiery orange to deep, shadowed red as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The colors were striking, but they didn't stir him. He paused only to take in the layout of the clearing—its openness, the way the trees ringed its edges like sentinels.
His legs gave out, and he sank to his knees, his body trembling from exertion. He leaned forward, his hands pressing into the soft ground as he caught his breath. The throbbing in his head spiked, sharp and unrelenting, and he made an grimacing face, unusual for a boy his age as he was closing his eyes against the pain.
He sat back, leaning against the nearest tree. Its bark was rough against his back, grounding him in a way that nothing else had. His stomach growled, reminding him of his growing hunger.
"Of course," he said, his tone flat. "Because one problem wasn't enough."
For a moment, he allowed himself to sit there, his eyes closed as he focused on his breathing. The hunger gnawed at him, but it was only another sensation—something to acknowledge and move past.
When the dizziness eased up, he forced himself to his feet. His body felt heavier, as though the effort of moving had doubled in weight. He swayed for a moment before steadying himself against the tree.
Food, I need food. If nature doesn't kill me, hunger might...
He scanned the clearing again, his eyes lingering on the dark edges where the forest resumed. He had no idea what was safe to eat or where he might find it, but sitting here wouldn't change that.
The shadows swallowed the light as he stepped back into the trees. The silence of the forest pressed in around him, it felt thick and oppressive, but he didn't flinch. He walked carefully, his footsteps muffled by the damp ground. Every crack of a twig underfoot drew his attention, but it wasn't fear it was curiosity, tempered by practicality.
The trees seemed denser now, their trunks packed closer together. He rested a hand against one as his head throbbed again, the pain flaring briefly before settling. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes, but he wiped it away without complaint.
Why am I so calm? The thought suddenly intruded him almost as if he muttered it by instinct. He then recognized the strangeness of it.
By all accounts, he should've been panicking, lost in an unfamiliar forest, injured, starving. But there was no rising dread, no frantic thoughts. It was as though his mind had stripped the situation of emotion, leaving only logic and action.
Maybe it's me. Or maybe it's… him. The name Daniel Forrester surfaced again, unshackling itself in his mind. He didn't push it away this time, though it lingered like a faint itch at the back of his mind.
A faint rustling sound broke the silence, and he turned his head toward it, his movements fluid and deliberate. His eyes swept the trees, searching for the source. Nothing moved. The forest was still.
"Wind," he muttered, though he knew better.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest started to darken. He adjusted his pace, slower now, each step precise as he tried to find any signs of life or movement from other living organisms.
When he paused again, leaning against a tree to steady himself, a single thought surfaced: This isn't going to be easy.
He didn't feel fear at the thought, only the faintest flicker of irritation. His body was working against him, but there was nothing to do about it.
"Well," he said aloud, his voice flat but tinged with dry humor. "Forward it is."
And with that, he disappeared into the darkness, the forest swallowing him whole.