Scene: THE ORTHODOX'S FOREST
The Shattered Falls of Viridia
The air shimmered with warmth and mist, a veil of vapor rising from the thunderous cascade that roared in the distance. Dozens of waterfalls spilled from jagged cliffs draped in emerald green, their white torrents crashing into the winding silver river below. The jungle was ancient—feral and regal—where thick vines coiled like sleeping serpents over the crumbling bones of forgotten ruins. Moss crept up broken pillars and half-buried statues, all relics of a civilization consumed by time and nature. High on a mossy bluff stood a lone spire of stone, glinting faintly in the morning light—like a beacon, or a warning.
The forest pulsed with life. Insects hummed, birds shrieked across the canopy, and strange distant cries echoed through the chasms. It was as if the world had exhaled, and here, in this secluded vale, the breath of the old gods still lingered.
Ren, Lyra, Yohan, and Aurther moved silently through the northern stretch of the forest, their footsteps light against the moss-covered ground. A heavy stillness hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or distant, unplaceable animal cry. They had three days—no more. Once that time passed, the forest would sever its link to the outside world, trapping them within. And staying longer… meant death. This was no ordinary woodland. Mythical beasts roamed its depths, and ancient predators guarded its secrets.
The deeper they went, the darker it became. The canopy thickened overhead, choking the sunlight into a cold, green twilight. None of them realized when the trees had closed in around them. It felt like stepping into another world.
Ren's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. A presence—too light for an animal, too practiced for a lost traveler—trailed them, hidden just beyond the treeline. His instincts screamed. They were being followed.
He exchanged a glance with Aurther. "We don't have time for a fight," Ren muttered.
A decision was made in seconds. The group split. Ren and Aurther slipped into the shadows, melting into the underbrush with practiced ease. They would flank or distract—whatever it took to keep the mission alive.
Yohan and Lyra pressed forward, unaware of the exact danger but trusting the choice. Their path led deeper into the heart of the forest, where the real trial awaited.
— Wittelsbach House
Captain Shingen sat in a carved wooden chair, a steaming cup of tea in hand. He watched the birds dance across the sky beyond the balcony, the gentle breeze ruffling the banners of House Wittelsbach. For a moment, peace reigned.
Then—
A flicker.
A memory.
The porcelain cup trembled slightly in his grip.
The image struck him like a blade through the mind—a monstrous spider, black as midnight and the size of a buffalo, its legs long and jagged like spears. Venom dripped from its mandibles, sizzling where it touched the ground. The air had reeked of rot and blood. That same nightmare was now real, alive, and stalking the forest.
Shingen stared into his cup, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Kids… complete the mission and return. Get out of that jungle while you still can."
---
— The Forest, Rain Falling
Thunder rumbled as Ren darted through the undergrowth, breath sharp in his lungs. The sound of something massive crashing through trees echoed behind him.
What the hell is this thing? he thought.
Then he saw it—the spider. Towering, grotesque, fangs dripping poison. It wasn't just a monster. It was a nightmare dragged from myth.
"Arth!" he shouted, glancing sideways. "Don't attack it without thinking—"
---— Deeper in the Forest, Yohan
Yohan slowed his steps. The air had changed. A strange stillness pressed against his skin like a warning. From the path ahead, he heard footsteps.
He raised his hand, ready for battle—
But it was just a crow, fluttering out from the mist. As it flew past, it dissolved into black smoke.
The forest around him began to shift. Leaves trembled. The sky dimmed unnaturally. The shadows deepened, and the very nature of the world around him twisted.
Then, a voice—familiar, gentle.
"Yohan… where are you?"
He turned sharply.
Someone stood there. Pale, radiant, calling to him.
He blinked, uncertain. "Sansa…?"
Yohan moved forward, passing through hanging vines and mist.
Then—through the trees—he saw something stranger still.
A figure bathing calmly in the river, half-shadowed by the steam. The same figure from before.
|| Unknown place ||
Lyra blinked. Milk?
No—fog.
Or was it something else? She couldn't say anymore. One moment she was walking beside Yohan, and the next she was alone, standing knee-deep in a soft, pale substance that moved like mist but felt heavier, almost warm. It didn't make sense. Neither milk nor fog. Something in between. Something born of neither.
Around her were broken shells—eggs, impossibly large—and from them pulsed a humid air like breath from a sleeping beast.
"Where do these boys go these days?" she muttered. "They think themselves so clever."
Her voice barely carried.
Then she saw it.
A shadow loomed before her—then came the full form of it: a massive, horned beast with green webbed feet and eyes like coals soaked in poison light. Its thick nose dragged the earth, pulsing and wet, with thick strands of saliva trailing from its lips. It stood like a god rebuked, towering on two hind legs, its back arched in unnatural tension.
It didn't wait.
" The Gorvane " , She said.
Lyra didn't flinch. She drew her sword in one motion and cleaved the monster in half.
Silence. For a breath.
Then: movement.
The creature she'd split became two, fully formed, standing as if they'd always been there. From the shadows, more emerged. They hadn't duplicated—they had arrived.
Then, the first one—the one she had cut—stood up again.
Lyra gripped her sword tighter. None of it made sense. She attacked again, slashing at one of the twins, but this time her blade caught, as if the creature had wrapped itself around it like rope. Her arms shuddered from the resistance.
The others didn't wait.
They surged forward, and the horror began.
One vomited black fluid over her, the texture like glue and ash. Another began regurgitating its own entrails, which slithered upward, forcing themselves down Lyra's throat. She gagged, trying to scream, but no sound came.
She felt something crawling into her ear—thin, wet, and needle-sharp—and her vision dimmed. Two others forced themselves through her nostrils and her eyes.
It was as if her body had become nothing but holes for them to claim.
But it wasn't that.
They weren't being taken in—they were entering of their own will, with no care for her refusal, no mind for her screams.
Each Gorvane's skin was laced with fine, glassy spikes—cutting her from the inside out as they pushed deeper into her.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of them now circled her, clambering over her like ants over honey, biting and piercing, stretching her skin like rubber until it felt like she might burst.
They licked her wounds, gnawed at her flesh, made holes where none belonged—holes through which they whispered, moaned, and laughed. Her nerves caught fire. Her body felt like it was expanding, warping—but no, she wasn't growing. They were inflating her. Using her.
In every moment, her body broke, and in the next, it reknit—over and over, as if she were living ten deaths for every second that passed.
Time warped. It couldn't have been more than moments. But Lyra… Lyra felt she had endured ten days of this.
Alone.
Alive.
Screaming in silence.
|| Somewhere in the world ||
She emerged like a dream stitched from silk and frost, a vision swathed in ethereal pink against the endless grass,butterflies the water flows in the river. Her silver hair, bound high in a ponytail, cascaded like moonlight over her back, and a delicate blindfold of rose-petal fabric veiled her eyes — not out of weakness, but as though sight itself was a burden she had long transcended.
The gossamer gown she wore clung to her like whispers, sewn with blossoms that bloomed along her figure in embroidered secrecy. Petals trailed across her skin, seemingly alive with some ancient enchantment, while translucent veils drifted from her arms like mist catching the wind. Every step she took across the grass left no mark, as if the land itself dared not hold her weight.
Behind her, a river flowed down from the mountains, its waters clear as crystal, curling over smooth stones as though guided by the pull of unseen forces. The sound of its current was faint, like a soft, melodic hum, a song that only the purest of souls could hear.
To see her was to forget the world.
To approach her was to risk unraveling your soul.
Yohan stood still, the forest thick with silence, only broken by the sound of shifting leaves. Through the underbrush ahead, someone was approaching—slowly, carefully. As she emerged, her form became clearer—tall, graceful, wearing light garments hastily thrown on, as if she had just dressed. Her long hair shimmered, and for a moment, Yohan's heart skipped a beat.
"I met you after so many days, Yohan!" the girl called out with a warm smile.
The voice—it was familiar. Sansa? Yohan's mind raced. But… who was this girl?
She walked closer, her expression sincere. "How are you?" she asked.
"I'm… fine," Yohan replied, cautiously. "But how are you here?"
She blinked, confused. "What do you mean, how am I here? This is my home."
Yohan's confusion deepened. Her home? Something wasn't right. Her face, her voice—it was just like Sansa's. But the way she spoke… she didn't recognize him?
"Why are you calling me Sansa, Yohan?" she asked, tilting her head. "I saw you during the exams. I recognized you here, in this forest. But… don't think too much about it."
"…Then who are you?" Yohan finally asked. "You look and sound just like my friend."
She gave a small, knowing smile. "My name is Medusa," she said, "If I'm late, my father will see me."
And with that, she turned and disappeared into the woods, her presence lingering like a whisper in the air.
Yohan stood there, uncertain. What was that? Had she truly forgotten me? Or was it something deeper—something wrong with the world around me?
The forest grew quiet again. Too quiet.
Then, out of the silence, another voice rang out, playful and venomous:
"Well, well… what a handsome boy he is," the girl cooed. "Should I really kill him, just because of her?"
Yohan turned sharply. A new figure was stepping out of the shadows between the trees, her eyes glinting with danger, and something else—curiosity.
He saw
A girl around 21s possesses an ethereal allure, her figure draped in a sheer, black gown adorned with velvet floral patterns that seem to bloom and fade with her movements. Her cascading raven hair catches stray light like obsidian spun into silk, casting shimmering highlights across her shoulders. Shadows cling to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve with a ghostly softness. Her eyes, half-veiled beneath her long lashes, glint with both warning and invitation—like a blade hidden in velvet.
She walk as though every motion were a calculated dance of dominance and desire. The subtle arch of her spine and the deliberate tilt of her head speak of confidence honed by centuries of whispered power and dangerous liaisons.
She said ," Once I mate a girl who looks like Medusa and I killed her but She saved by someone who's appearance as black shadow. "
Yohan said ," who are you?!!
That's girl said with a smile ," Forgive me my handsome boy , I'm Lady Nyx (the princess of this forest."
---
Yohan: "What? You're a princess? But this forest… it's under Windsor control."
Nyx (with a teasing smile): "Handsome boy, that's a long story. I'll tell you later. But first—what are you doing here? Someone like you shouldn't be wandering through this place. It's far too dangerous for someone… so handsome."
Yohan (sharply): "I'm here on a mission."
Nyx (eyes narrowing with sudden interest): "A mission? Wait… don't tell me—you came here from the outside world?"
—Flashback—
Yohan remembered the moment clearly: the ground collapsing beneath him during his trek through the ruins of fog. A tunnel had opened suddenly, and he'd fallen—plunged into darkness—before awakening in this unfamiliar forest.
Yohan: "What do you mean 'your world'? I'm still in the Forest of Orthodox… right?"
Nyx (face darkening slightly): "No. This is not Orthodox. You've crossed into another realm. This is the land of the Vampires. And someone like you… shouldn't be here."
She looked around, as if the trees themselves were listening. Her voice dropped into a hush.
Nyx: "This world used to be cloaked in eternal night. But years ago, a man attacked us—a man with fire in his hands and rage in his heart. After that… the sunlight began to seep through. Now, we can no longer roam freely during the day."
Yohan: "Then… you're not a vampire?"
Nyx: "Oh, I am a vampire. But I'm different. Sunlight doesn't burn me. I've always been this way. Some say it's because of what I eat—things touched only by my own hands. Others… say I'm cursed, that I've tasted something born from hell itself."
Yohan (interrupting): "Do you know why you're like this?"
Nyx (gently, almost sadly): "No."
Yohan: "Then why—why do you even need to—"
Before he could finish, Nyx moved closer. Her lips curled into a strange smile.
Without warning, she bit into something—a dark, shimmering fruit she pulled from her robe. As its juice ran down her chin, she reached out and touched Yohan's arm.
His vision blurred. The forest spun.
And then—everything went black.