The silence of the Forgotten Terrain felt heavier as Jalil ventured farther from his cave, each step pulling him deeper into the bleak unknown. Shadows flickered along the rocks, yet there was no clear source of light in this place—only a muted, grayish glow that seemed to come from nowhere. Somewhere ahead, he could hear it again: the faint whisper of his name.
"Jalil…"
The voice was soft, almost a murmur, but its familiarity filled him with both longing and unease. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew this voice, that it was part of some distant, half-forgotten memory from the life he'd left behind. His heart thudded in his chest, a dull, persistent beat as he pressed forward, his feet crunching over the jagged stones.
The farther he walked, the louder the voice became, repeating his name like a lullaby—soft, hypnotic, drawing him forward despite the chill it sent down his spine. With each echo, memories stirred within him. He remembered his mother's face, her smile, and the lullabies she'd whispered to him in the dark. Could it be her voice calling out to him, guiding him through this nightmare?
He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't see the figure standing in the shadows up ahead.
Jalil froze, his breath catching. The figure was small, barely taller than he was, with dark eyes that seemed to stare right through him. It looked like a child, dressed in tattered clothing that blended into the rocks around them, as if they were a part of this desolate landscape.
The child tilted their head, studying him with an unsettling, ageless gaze. "You're new here," they said, their voice as soft as the wind whispering through the stones. "Following the voice, are you?"
Jalil hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Yeah… I heard someone calling my name," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do you… do you know where it leads?"
The child's expression shifted, a flicker of something that looked like sadness or perhaps pity. "That voice leads nowhere good," they murmured. "It's an echo, a fragment of something that was lost a long time ago. But here, in this place, even lost things have a way of lingering."
Jalil's heart sank. "But… it sounded like someone I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like my mom."
The child shrugged, their gaze distant. "This place has a way of playing tricks on people," they said. "It knows what you're looking for. It knows what you need. But sometimes, following that voice only leads you deeper into the dark."
Jalil swallowed, glancing back at the path he'd come from. He didn't want to turn back, not now, not when he was so close. But doubt gnawed at him, the child's words echoing in his mind.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Are you… are you dead too?"
The child's eyes grew distant, as if they were looking at something far beyond the rocky terrain. "I've been here a long time," they said quietly. "Long enough to forget what it feels like to be alive. I was searching for something once… but I don't remember what it was anymore."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive. Jalil shifted, feeling the weight of their words pressing down on him. But before he could ask anything else, the child gestured toward a small, dark pool nestled between the rocks.
"Look there," they said. "It's called the Reflection Pool. It shows you things… memories, pieces of who you were. But it can also trap you if you're not careful."
Jalil hesitated, glancing at the pool's still, dark surface. His reflection stared back at him, distorted and wavering, but then the water rippled, and images began to form—images from his life.
He saw himself as a little boy, running through a sunlit park, laughing as his mother chased after him. He saw the small apartment they'd lived in, filled with the scent of cooking and the soft hum of music on the radio. And then he saw her face, etched with worry, her eyes red and tired, the weight of her struggles heavy on her shoulders.
A lump formed in his throat. "Mom…" he whispered, reaching out as if he could touch her, as if he could pull her from the depths of the water and hold her close. But the image faded, replaced by shadows and echoes of things he'd tried to forget.
The child's voice broke through the silence. "Memories can be comforting… but they can also trap you. Don't lose yourself in them."
Jalil tore his gaze away from the pool, feeling a surge of resolve. His mother was out there—somewhere, somehow—and he would find a way back to her, no matter what it took. He straightened, glancing at the child, his voice steady. "Thank you," he said, "but I have to keep going. I can't stay here."
The child nodded, their expression unreadable. "Then be careful. The Children of Death guard this place. They don't like it when souls try to leave."
A chill ran through Jalil at the mention of the Children of Death. He'd seen them before, their skeletal forms lurking in the shadows, always watching, always waiting. He shuddered, casting a wary glance around the rocky landscape.
As if summoned by the thought, he heard the faint, distant scrape of scythes dragging against stone. The sound grew louder, a low, menacing rumble that seemed to vibrate through the ground itself. He turned, his heart racing, and saw them—figures emerging from the shadows, their hollow eyes fixed on him.
"Run," the child whispered, their voice a mere breath of sound. And then they vanished, melting into the rocks as if they'd never been there at all.
Jalil didn't need to be told twice. He spun on his heel, sprinting away from the approaching figures, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The Children of Death followed, their movements slow but relentless, their scythes gleaming in the dim light as they closed in.
The voice called to him again, louder this time, a desperate, urgent whisper. "Jalil… keep going… keep going…"
He didn't know where he was running or if he could even escape, but he kept moving, his footsteps echoing through the rocks. The terrain stretched out before him, an endless maze of shadows and stone, but he felt a strange certainty guiding him, pulling him forward.
He could feel the Children of Death behind him, their presence cold and suffocating, but somehow, they couldn't reach him. It was as if something was holding them back, an invisible barrier that kept them at bay.
And as he ran, the voice grew clearer, filling him with a strange, fierce determination. He didn't know if it was real or just a trick of this twisted realm, but it didn't matter. He would follow it, chase it through the dark, because as long as he had hope, he could keep moving forward.