The wind howled through the towering trees of the Shadowed Forest, their twisted branches clawing at the sky like the hands of desperate souls. The moon hung high, casting a pale silver glow upon the thick mist that curled along the forest floor. Somewhere in the distance, the eerie hoot of an owl echoed, followed by the rustling of unseen creatures.
Rayan pulled his cloak tighter around him, his breath visible in the cold night air. He had been wandering these cursed woods for what felt like an eternity, yet no matter how many times he left, he always found himself back here.
It had to be a curse.
What else could explain the way his feet unconsciously led him through the same twisted paths, his mind consumed by thoughts he didn't understand? It was as if an invisible thread pulled him deeper into the heart of the forest, refusing to let go.
He was an adventurer, a man who had traveled far and wide, completing countless jobs for coin. He had faced bandits, fought monsters, and survived treacherous landscapes. Yet, nothing unnerved him quite like this.
A witch.
That was the only explanation.
Somewhere in these woods, a being of dark magic was toying with him, twisting his thoughts, controlling his very steps. He could feel it—the pull, the haunting whispers in his mind, the way his heart pounded with something unfamiliar whenever he thought about it.
"You are like a witch that's hunting me," he muttered under his breath, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.
And yet, he kept coming back.
His latest job had brought him here in search of a rare herb said to grow only in the heart of the forest. The village healer had paid him handsomely to retrieve it, warning him of the dangers that lurked within.
But he had faced dangers before. He had faced magic before.
None of it had ever touched him.
Not once in his life had a spell, curse, or enchantment worked on him. It was a fact he had learned long ago, a mystery that even the most seasoned mages could not explain.
Yet, for the first time, he felt truly cursed.
Something had taken root inside him, an obsession he could not shake. Every attempt to leave the forest ended in failure. His mind drifted, his feet carried him back, and the memory of those cold, piercing eyes burned within him.
Who had cursed him?
Or had he cursed himself?
Rayan sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. He had to finish his job. Grab the herb, get out, and never return.
Simple.
Then why did it feel impossible?
A sudden gust of wind sent the mist swirling, and the temperature seemed to drop. The sensation was familiar—the feeling of being watched. His body tensed as he reached for his sword, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.
And then, he saw her.
A figure draped in black stood just beyond the mist, her long silver hair catching the moonlight. Her face was pale, hauntingly beautiful, yet devoid of warmth. She did not move, did not blink—she simply watched him with those cold, merciless eyes.
The witch.
His heart pounded, and for the first time, he realized something terrifying.
He wasn't being hunted.
He was the one chasing after her.
And he didn't even know why.