Firelight painted Alex’s face in a golden amber glow as he stared into the hearth. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, and a sense of ease settled over him as he watched the embers dance. The silence that had once dominated the small cabin had been replaced by the quiet sizzle of roasting meat and a sweet, rich scent filling the air.

  The smell was familiar. Too familiar.

  Beneath the sweetness of cooking meat, something else stirred. It was not just hunger. It reminded him of home, as memories came unbidden.

  Alex remembered sitting at a long table with his family during festive seasons, plates crowded with food, voices overlapping in laughter and argument alike. Being born into a large extended family scattered across the continent was something he had always cherished, especially during those rare moments when everyone gathered at his grandmother’s house. The place where he had grown up.

  ‘Grandma.’

  The memory was clear, it lingered as his heart stuttered for a fraction of a second. Images of her warm smile and sharp scolding when he and his cousins stole sweets from her purse surfaced clearly. A soft smile tugged at Alex’s lips before he realized it was there.

  “Deer meat must be your favorite, right?” the man said, his gaze resting on Alex.

  “Uh. What?” Alex snapped out of his thoughts, blinking.

  Roric and Iris were still in their places, their attention shifting toward him. The sudden focus felt disarming.

  “Well,” the man continued, glancing toward the hearth, “you were staring at it with a smile. I figured maybe it reminded you of something.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “My apologies. You must be starving. It will be ready soon.”

  “Uh. Yeah. Thanks,” Alex replied, a little awkwardly.

  “Hey,” Roric said after a moment. “You never gave us your name.”

  The man looked up, as if realizing it for the first time. “Names Malach,” he echoed quietly, the flame flickering gently as he reached behind a stone near the hearth, retrieving a set of knives, and began to cut the meat into manageable portions with practiced hands. “That would help, wouldn’t it.”

  “Well Malach,” Roric began, his tone measured, “you’ve told us you’re searching for your son. But how have you survived all this time with…” He hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to the darkened window. “With whatever is out there?”

  For a defining second, Malach did not reply.

  He finished placing the cut portions of meat onto a wide wooden plank and set it carefully at the center of their sitting space. The fire popped softly. Fat hissed. Only then did Malach straighten, his attention slowly shifting to Roric, whose hand still rested near the hilt of his sword.

  “The forest wasn’t always hunted,” Malach said at last. His voice was low, steady, but it carried something old beneath it.

  “There was a time when it breathed with us, not against us,” he continued. “Paths stayed where they were. Rivers remembered their names. You could walk for days and never feel watched.”

  Iris’s grip loosened slightly around her knees. Her eyes lifted, sharp but curious.

  Malach glanced toward her. “It listened, not like a beast listens. Like a home does.”

  Alex felt a strange pull in his chest at that word. Home.

  “The corruption didn’t come all at once,” Malach said. “It seeped in. Rot spreads quietly. Trees twisted first. Then the ground forgot how to rest. Things that should have stayed buried learned how to walk.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Roric frowned. “And you stayed.”

  Malach nodded. Flexing his scarred and calloused figures unconsciously. “I stayed because I had to. After my wife died, after my son was taken, leaving felt like abandoning what little remained of them.”

  Alex swallowed. The firelight blurred for a moment, his thoughts drifting uninvited to empty walls and voices that no longer answered. He forced himself back, listening.

  “You asked how I survived,” Malach went on. “I learned the old ways. Not spells that burn or tear. Wards. Boundaries. Promises made to the land before it broke.”

  He gestured faintly toward the walls. “There’s a barrier around this cabin. Starts at the treeline. You wouldn’t see it unless you knew where to look. It doesn’t keep everything out. It just convinces most things to look elsewhere.”

  Iris tilted her head. “Convincing the forest sounds more dangerous than fighting it.”

  A corner of Malach’s mouth twitched. “It is.”

  Roric finally eased his stance fully, and leaned back. “So you live inside a fragile truce.”

  “Yes,” Malach said simply. “And truce or not, the forest respects those who remember what it was.”

  Silence settled again, but it was no longer sharp. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind sighed through the trees, distant and restrained.

  Alex stared into the flames, his sword’s low murmur fading until it was barely there. Something about Malach’s words resonated, not as knowledge but as recognition. As if remembering mattered more than surviving.

  Malach passed portions quietly. No one spoke for a while as they ate. The warmth spread slowly, not just through limbs but through something that settled deeper.

  For the first time since entering the forest, the night did not feel hostile.

  *****

  After a while, Malach gestured for Iris to take the room. She tried to refuse, but he insisted. Roric settled near the door, his back against the wall, eyes fixed on the hearth. He offered to take first watch, stating quietly that the night felt far from over despite the claims of a barrier.

  Alex leaned against the worn wooden wall of the cabin. His heart had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, but his mind refused to follow. Thoughts still collided, overlapping and unfinished. Listening to Malach’s story had answered many questions, yet it left behind an unease he could not name.

  Something was missing.

  The feeling itched at the back of his mind, persistent and uncomfortable. Slowly, he began piecing things together. The forest. The way Malach spoke of it, not as a place gone mad, but as something wounded.

  Alex closed his eyes. ‘Focus. What aren’t you seeing?’

  Images surfaced unbidden. The castle. The parting with Elenora. The march into the woods... his thoughts stalled, circling one point he kept skirting around.

  The forest.

  Alex eyes opened. The hearth had dimmed slightly, its flames casting a deeper orange across the room.

  A memory stirred. Not of trees or monsters, but of light. A screen. Words that slipped pass his attention.

  ‘Dream Nexus.’

  Alex frowned, scratching his forehead as his mind searched backward. Then it clicked. The tower. White-hair. He had said it then too.

  His gaze drifted to Roric, eyes closed, but the tight grip on his sword betrayed his awareness. Not asleep. Never truly. Then to Iris’s door. Then to Malach, seated quietly near the fire.

  Four.

  The realization sent a chill through him. The same number as the tower climb.

  Another memory surfaced, sharp and unwelcome. Kira, the middle scholar. The betrayal that had followed trust.

  ‘Would it… happen again?’

  Alex exhaled slowly and pushed the thought aside. Worrying wouldn’t give him answers. Waiting hadn’t helped before either. If this place was connected, if the Dream Nexus was more than coincidence, then he needed clarity. Real answers.

  ‘… a Recall.’ With that thought a screen shimmered at the edge of his gaze.

  [Dream Resonance: +7]

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  There was no guide here, no archive to search. But if Fragment Recall worked the way Morpheus claimed, then asking directly was his best option.

  Even if the truth was not what Alex wanted to hear.

  THE FIRST CRADLE – A LITRPG ADVENTURE

  The Sun is dying, and there's no saving this world.

  THE FIRST CRADLE – A LITRPG ADVENTURE – NEW CHAPTERS EVERY FRIDAY!