Although it was important for Aectaeon to reach the 51st floor immediately, walking through the forest made him want to stay on the 52nd floor.
When his father was still alive, they had a cabin in the middle of the woods.
But that was the only thing that Aectaeon remembered.
The grass tickling his ankles; the sunlight filtering through the mildly-dense forest canopy; the heavy embrace of the trees and shrubs; they were all familiar to Aectaeon.
It made him feel something inexplicable.
Never had he been that comfortable outside of the little apartment him and his mother lived in.
The warmth of the sun, which he found a bit overbearing most of the time, was like a cradle. The wind brushing against his skin was cool, touching gently as if he was its lover. Not like Aectaeon ever had one.
Still and all, every single sensation he encountered was moreish. He wanted to stay inside that forest for as long as he could.
