The forest was a cage of damp cedar and mocking whispers. Shren's breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps as he stumbled through the underbrush, the mud caking his expensive sneakers. Behind him, the echoes of Marcus's laughter still felt like physical blows.
"Don't come back, Shren! Maybe the trees will like you better than we do!"
He hadn't seen the sinkhole until it was too late. The ground gave way, a jagged maw of roots and ancient stone swallowing him whole. He fell into a darkness that smelled of ozone and dry earth. When he hit the bottom, a sickening crack echoed through the chamber. Pain, white and blinding, flared in his leg.
In the dim light of a bioluminescent moss, he saw it: a rusted, heavy band of metal resting on a pedestal of bone. Desperate for a handhold to pull himself up, Shren's bleeding hand brushed the cold iron.
The silence of the room was broken by a low, rhythmic hum. As his blood seeped into the metal's intricate grooves, the rust fell away like dead skin, revealing a pulsing, molten core of violet light. It didn't just slide onto his wrist; it fused.