A soft breeze grazed James's face, carrying a crisp scent of grass, cool earth, and something he couldn't place. He felt the touch of damp grass beneath him, its blades brushing against his skin, urging him to wake. Blinking against the sunlight, James opened his eyes to an endless, cloudless sky above, framed by towering mountains that rose like sentinels on the horizon.
He sat up slowly, his body stiff, his mind still grasping at the memory of falling asleep in his bed the night before. He hadn't even changed out of his clothes—a plain t-shirt, sweatpants, and no shoes. At twenty-one, he was still trying to figure out what he wanted out of life, each day more of a blur than the last. But now he was here, lying in the middle of a vast meadow bordered by high, rugged mountains on one side and a dense, shadowy forest on the other.
"What...?" he murmured, confusion settling over him like a fog. The last thing he remembered was the city noise filtering in through his window, his head sinking into his pillow. But here, there were no city sounds—only the rustle of grass and the distant call of birds echoing off the mountains.
James pushed himself to his feet, brushing off bits of grass that clung to his clothes. His bare feet sank slightly into the soft ground as he took in the vastness around him. The meadow stretched wide and open under the bright sun, with wildflowers scattered among the grass, adding splashes of color. Yet it was isolated, closed in by the steep cliffs of the mountains and the looming trees of the forest.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice swallowed up by the stillness. He turned in a slow circle, searching for any sign of civilization, any indication of how he got here—but there was nothing.
James turned slowly, scanning the meadow one more time, trying to ignore the prickling unease rising in his chest.
"Alright, Jimmy," he muttered, his voice rough in the silence, "you went to sleep in your own bed, in your own apartment. And now… you're here?"
He squinted at the distant mountains, then looked back at the line of trees bordering the meadow. "This isn't happening," he said, rubbing his temples. "I mean, people don't just… wake up in the middle of nowhere."
He shifted his bare feet in the grass, feeling its coolness seeping into his skin. The more he tried to piece together a reason, any possible explanation for this, the more his mind came up empty. He was here, and that was all he knew.
"Well, maybe I'm dreaming," he suggested, pinching his arm. The sharp sting brought no change to the landscape. "Guess not."
He sighed, hands on his hips, staring at the forest edge. "So what do I do now? Sit here and wait for answers to magically show up?"
With no better options, he took a tentative step toward the forest, mumbling, "At least there might be something—someone—out there."
James slowly made his way toward the edge of the trees, glancing back one last time at the wide, open sky and the false sense of calm it offered. Under the thick shadows of the forest, the world suddenly felt more confined. The massive tree trunks stood like silent sentinels, forming an impenetrable wall. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
"Alright, James, it's just… a forest," he muttered as he stepped beneath the canopy. But the sense of security he'd hoped for didn't come. Instead, the air felt heavier, each rustle of leaves or crack of a branch far too loud in the dense silence.
He looked around, searching for a path or any sign of civilization, but the trees seemed to close in from all sides. The shadows deepened, and the sunlight barely broke through the thick foliage, casting flickering light patterns on the forest floor.
"Okay, great… this is totally not creepy at all," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself as if to reassure his nerves. "I mean, who wouldn't want to get lost in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees…"
After a few minutes of walking, James noticed a slight change in the ground beneath his feet. The carpet of needles and fallen leaves seemed disturbed, as though something—or someone—had passed through here before him. He crouched down to take a closer look and saw a narrow, barely visible path beneath the debris.
"Finally, some kind of trail," he sighed, trying to convince himself it was a good sign. "Well, either it leads somewhere… or I'm losing my mind."
He stepped onto the trail, moving cautiously between the trees, his eyes scanning the surroundings. With each step, the forest seemed to close in tighter around him, as if it were watching. A sudden crack to his left made him jump, and he stopped, his heart racing.
"Come on, James, calm down…" he muttered, trying to sound reassuring. "Just the wind. Nothing else."
But as he resumed walking, the feeling of being watched didn't fade. He kept going, knowing that standing still in this strange, oppressive place wasn't an option.
As James continued down the narrow path, he paused for a moment to take in his surroundings. The forest, with its towering trees and thick undergrowth, felt both majestic and menacing. He barely noticed the movement at first, but then his eyes landed on a figure—an animal, standing still just a few yards away. A deer, its coat a smooth brown, its long antlers rising high into the air like a crown.
James couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by the animal's grace. "Wow… that's beautiful," he whispered to himself, marveling at how serene and elegant the creature seemed in the quiet of the woods.
But his admiration was short-lived. Suddenly, the peace shattered. A growl—low, guttural—echoed from the trees, followed by a series of snarls. The deer's head snapped up, its ears twitching as it began to back away. Then, from the shadows, a pack of wolves emerged. Their eyes glinted hungrily, and their teeth were bared in a savage snarl.
James froze, watching in horror as the wolves pounced. The deer fought back fiercely, its antlers swinging, but the wolves were relentless. James's heart pounded in his chest. He had no weapon, no way to help, and the sight of the brutal struggle left him paralyzed with fear.
With adrenaline surging, James turned and bolted down the path, his feet slipping on the uneven ground. His breath came in ragged gasps as he ran, not daring to look back, but knowing that the wolves could be closing in on him. The sounds of their pursuit echoed in the distance, but he didn't slow down.
He kept running until, just as he thought his legs would give out, he stumbled into an open clearing. His eyes widened in shock at the sight before him.
A road. A large, well-worn path stretching far into the distance. But what caught his attention wasn't the road itself—it was the wreckage that lay sprawled across it.
A cart, once sturdy and proud, now lay shattered into pieces. Its wheels were broken, and its frame was twisted beyond recognition. Scattered around it were bodies—torn apart, their flesh mutilated and partially devoured. The scene was like something from a nightmare, a gruesome vision of carnage that made James's stomach turn.
He stepped forward hesitantly, his gaze lingering on the blood-soaked ground. The mutilated bodies were of people—men, women, and children, some unrecognizable, others still clutching broken belongings. Their faces were contorted in terror, their bodies savagely torn.
"This… this can't be real," James whispered to himself, his voice trembling. But the sight before him was all too real. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of the chaos, but the horror was too overwhelming.
Despite the terror gripping him, something inside James stirred. This destruction… it wasn't random. Someone or something had caused it. There had to be a reason. And maybe, just maybe, there was something here that could help him make sense of all this madness.
Taking a deep breath, James forced himself to move closer to the wreckage, his eyes scanning the ground for anything useful, any clue as to what had happened. His heart still pounded in his chest, but he knew he couldn't afford to run anymore. Not if he wanted to survive.
James cautiously approached the carnage, his heart pounding even harder in his chest. The mutilated bodies, partially devoured, were both a terrifying sight and a strange source of information. As he leaned in closer, he noticed something that made him shiver: bite marks, deep and obvious, embedded into the flesh. It could only be the wolves, who had evidently had their fill. But something didn't add up.
Some of the wounds weren't caused by animal teeth. These were cleaner, more precise cuts, as if made by a sharp blade. A neat slash on an arm, a knife wound to the abdomen. The marks left no doubt: this wasn't just a savage animal attack.
"Bandits..." he whispered, his thoughts racing. He'd seen enough movies and read enough books to recognize this kind of violence. No, this carnage had the signature of criminals—people who'd attacked this convoy for money, supplies, or perhaps something more.
James scanned the area, his eyes searching for clues in the chaos. He spotted a half-torn sack beside a body, with a few items left behind. A good-quality knife, half-embedded in the ground, along with a small pouch full of copper coins, seemingly abandoned in the rush.
Near another body, a steel sword, slightly rusted but still in decent condition, lay discarded in the dirt. It was covered in blood—either from the victims or the attackers. James slowly picked it up, examining it. It was a light weapon, maneuverable. Not the best, but effective enough for self-defense.
"If you can actually use it, for me it's as good as a blunt weapon."he said with a sigh.
By chance, James stumbled across a pair of boots that seemed to fit him perfectly. They were sturdy, with worn leather that looked like they'd seen their fair share of travel, but they were far better than walking barefoot. He pulled them on quickly, tying the laces as tightly as he could, the boots giving him a slight sense of security. It was a small victory, but it was something.
His gaze shifted to the footprints that led off to the left side of the road, visible in the mud and crushed leaves. Heavy footprints, well-marked boots, leading into the trees. He crouched down to observe them more closely. There were no animal tracks here, no wolves. These were definitely the bandits' footprints, probably those responsible for the massacre.
He looked to the other side of the road, where the path continued, seemingly untouched. "Maybe I should go the other way…" he muttered to himself. If these bandits had taken this direction, there was a good chance there were more traps, enemies, or objects to discover. The opposite side seemed quieter, less tainted by violence. Maybe he'd find a hiding spot or a way out of this hellish zone.
Before leaving the wrecked wagon and the bodies abandoned around it, James paused, feeling the weight of the tragedy before him. He looked at the lifeless faces of the victims, their lives stolen in this wild place. Gripping the sword handle a little tighter, he closed his eyes and murmured a simple but heartfelt prayer.
"I'm borrowing these things to survive," he whispered, his voice low and respectful. "I'm grateful for what you've left me. I promise I'll send help as soon as I reach a village."
He stood still for a moment, one hand resting on the wagon as if to honor their memory. A wave of sadness and determination washed over him. Then, after one last respectful glance, he straightened, tightening the boots on his feet and clutching the sword in his hand.
Without another word, he turned away, ready to continue on his path. But now, he carried another purpose other than survival: to find help for those who had lost their lives here so tragically.
With the sword tightly gripped in his hand, James moved away from the carnage, the bandit footprints still fresh in his mind. He knew he had to hurry, before someone returned to the scene. The forest was already dangerous enough, but here, humans were just as much a threat.
He moved forward cautiously, his senses heightened, every rustle of the leaves or distant crack of twigs making him freeze. The forest around him was dense and silent, the shadows beneath the trees deepening as he ventured farther in. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him—waiting. Perhaps it was the wolves, or maybe even the bandits, but whatever it was, it kept him on edge.
Every now and then, he would spot a rustling bush or hear a growl in the distance, and his heart would race. James quickly ducked behind trees, hiding in whatever cover he could find, holding his breath as he waited for the sound to pass. He knew that moving too carelessly could bring trouble, so he took it slow, one cautious step at a time.
As he continued on, his mind was filled with questions: Where was he? Why had he woken up here? And who were these bandits? The forest, though beautiful, felt suffocating, its mysteries seeming to close in on him with every step. Yet, there was no turning back now—he had to keep moving. Every sound, every shadow could be the difference between survival and danger.
With the boots now securely on his feet, the sword in his hand, and a gnawing sense of urgency in his chest, James pushed forward, hoping that whatever was ahead would offer him answers—or at least a way out of this mess.