A young man lay sprawled on the forest floor, his sleep troubled by faint murmurs that slipped from his lips. “Wake up… we’re all waiting for you…”

  The whisper vanished into the stillness, unnoticed, until a lone raindrop forced its way through the thick canopy above. It hovered for a moment before plunging downward, striking the young man’s ear.

  With a sharp gasp, he bolted upright, his eyes snapping open.

  “What the—” he began, but bit off the curse, taking in his surroundings.

  The forest around him seemed alive, a surreal world cast in muted sepia tones. Towering trees loomed on all sides, their gnarled trunks covered in moss and scars of age. The dense canopy above barely allowed the faintest hints of amber light to filter through, leaving the ground cloaked in shadow. A subtle mist clung to the earth, curling around massive roots like ghostly fingers, and the air carried the scent of damp earth and rain.

  A heavy sigh escaped him as he muttered, “Narr, where have we ended up this time?”

  Seemingly from nowhere, a voice shot back, sharp and indignant.

  “Who do you think I am?! I’m not going to give you spoilers! You want to know something? You’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

  The young man rolled his eyes and pulled at the leather-bound tome hanging from his waist. It was chained to him, its brown cover aged and weathered, giving it a bleached, almost unnatural look. Hidden under his dirty leather robes, the tome seemed to pulse faintly, as though it were alive.

  “Don’t be like that and be helpful for once, you damn cursed grimoire!” he snapped, holding the book up in frustration.

  “The audacity!” the voice retorted, bristling with indignation. “I am no mere cursed grimoire, you imbecile! I am the great Narrator! The teller of a thousand and one stories! The knower of tales not yet told or written! Show some respect!”

  The young man groaned and let the book fall against his side, the chain clinking as it swung back into place. “Yeah, you’re as useful as always, Narr.”

  Ignoring the tome’s indignant ramblings, he crouched down and surveyed the forest, contemplating his next move.

  “Why do I always wake up in some gloomy forest lying on wet wood, some desolate desert face down in hot sand, or, worst of all, a literal pigsty?!” Albert muttered, his voice laced with irritation as he brushed dirt off his tattered leather robes.

  “Stop complaining and be grateful,” Narr chimed in, haughty as ever. “You woke up somewhere remotely safe this time.”

  Albert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, safe. But is it too much to ask to wake up on a cozy king-size bed, maybe surrounded by a few beauties?” His tone carried a hint of wistful hope.

  “Keep dreaming, Albert,” Narr shot back, crushing his fantasy without hesitation.

  Albert smirked. “One can always dream, Narr.”

  Shrugging off the banter, he slung his pack to the ground and began rummaging through it. The bag, though deceptively small, seemed to hold an impossible amount of items. After a few minutes of clinking and shuffling, he pulled out a single silver coin. It didn’t look like much—worn, slightly tarnished—but the glint in Albert’s eyes betrayed a deeper significance.

  Albert's eyes gleamed with unmistakable greed as he caressed the coin lovingly.

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  He held the coin up, turning it between his fingers, the faint light breaking through the forest canopy glinting off its surface.

  “Heads, I go left. Tails, I go right,” he declared. With a flick of his thumb, he sent the coin spinning into the air, its metallic sheen catching the dim amber glow.

  The coin landed softly in his hand. Albert grinned.

  “Heads. Well, seems the right way it is.” He turned decisively to his left and began walking.

  From his waist, the grimoire’s voice rose in incredulity.

  “Did you really steal Charon’s obol?”

  Albert clicked his tongue, feigning offense. “I didn’t steal anything! Don’t go ruining my barely standing reputation, Narr. I just… borrowed it indefinitely. Until we meet again, of course. Then I will hopefully remember to return it.”

  Narr groaned, exasperated. “You do realize Charon’s Obol is no ordinary coin, right? It’s meant for the dead—to pay for passage across the River Styx. That coin always leads toward death. That’s its whole purpose, you idiot!”

  Albert waved the concern away, his pace unbroken. “Which is exactly why I borrowed it, and am walking the other way. See? I am solving all our Problems.”

  The grimoire sputtered, caught between frustration and begrudging admiration at Alberts audacity. Meanwhile, Albert strode confidently through the sepia-toned forest, his boots crunching against the mossy ground. Though he wore an air of careless nonchalance, the faintest trace of a smirk lingered on his face.

  After walking for half an hour, there was still no end to the forest. The towering trees loomed endlessly, their sepia-toned shadows stretching like prison bars. Narr, ever the opportunist, had been taunting Albert non-stop, offering neither advice nor reprieve.

  Two hours later, the oppressive scenery remained unchanged. Albert’s steps grew heavier, his breaths more labored, and his patience wore thin. The constant heckling of his so-called companion grated on his nerves.

  “You know, I think we’re lost,” Narr commented gleefully.

  Albert’s jaw tightened. “We’re not lost. Just a bit more, and I’ll be out of this thrice-damned forest,” he shot back, frustration bubbling under his tone.

  “Why don’t you just ask someone for directions?” Narr suggested, his voice bright with unholy joy at Albert’s misery.

  “And who, pray tell, should I ask? You? The most unhelpful Grimoire in the world?” Albert snarled, his annoyance barely contained.

  “No,” Narr replied slyly. “Ask him.”

  Albert blinked, confused. Then, following Narr’s words, his eyes landed on a fox sitting serenely in the middle of his path. Its intelligent gaze met his own, unflinching. Albert stopped, exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they stared at each other, sizing one another up.

  “What’s your problem?” Albert asked, his tone sharp and laced with irritation.

  The fox blinked slowly, as if considering his words, then glanced left and right, as though checking if it was really the one being addressed. Finally, it turned back to him and, to Albert’s shock, spoke in a clear, crisp voice.

  “My problem? More like your problem!”

  Albert groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, fantastic. A real Fabelwesen. Just what I needed—a talking, furry friend to complete my adventure,” he muttered, his sarcasm palpable.

  “For a guy lost in a forest that practically screams magical, and in need of help, you’re impressively insufferable,” the fox retorted, rolling its eyes with a distinctly human-like exasperation.

  “Thank you!” Narr chimed in, brimming with schadenfreude. “I’ve been telling him for hours that this forest isn’t kosher, but noooo, does he listen to the magical talking book? Of course not!”

  Albert pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about cursed books and obnoxious animals. The fox, meanwhile, simply watched, amused. Narr, for his part, was relishing the rare opportunity to have an ally in tormenting Albert.

  “Fine, fine!” Albert exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Mr. Fox, since you’re so wise, care to enlighten me on how to get out of this forest?” His tone was exaggerated, dripping with mock politeness.

  The fox tilted its head, as if pondering the question. Finally, with a wry smile, it replied, “Sure. Turn around and walk for ten minutes in the direction you came from.”

  Albert froze. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Slowly, realization dawned. This forest wouldn’t let him leave unless he walked toward the one thing he’d been avoiding—the inevitable doom that awaited him.

  He let out a long, weary sigh, shoulders slumping. “Oh, fate, what a cruel mistress you are. So be it. I will walk with my head held high… toward my death.”

  With that, Albert turned on his heel, his steps heavy with resignation. The fox watched him go, its expression unreadable, while Narr’s laughter echoed through the sepia-toned forest like a mocking chorus.