Trial of Orientation
The moment you step through the ring, the clearing vanishes.
No sound of wind, no trace of birdsong. The world you left behind is simply gone, swallowed as though it had never been. Even the ring itself is lost, leaving you stranded in silence that presses against your ears until you hear nothing but the thrum of your own pulse.
At first it is only an uncanny, invisible whisper, a shiver that twists your stomach into a knot. But soon the forest begins to bend and sway unnaturally. Trees stretch tall, then shrink; their trunks twist into shapes almost human before bleeding back into bark. Paths double back on themselves. Shadows lurch, stretching far too long, then snapping short again. Every step feels uncountable; were you moving for a minute, or a thousand?
Your breath quickens. Cold sweat runs down your spine. The steady rhythm of your heart is the only thing still anchoring you to the reality you know. The trees stretch taller the farther you walk, their trunks bending unnaturally, their roots curling like veins across the soil. The fog clings close, hiding the trail until you are certain there is none left at all. Then, out of nowhere, a fork opens before you.
To your right, the ground straightens into a faint track, scattered with signs you know you’ve seen before: a carving in the bark that matches one back home, patterns of stone you could swear you once stacked yourself. A shape flickers between the trees - someone you once trusted? Perhaps family, perhaps a friend. Voices call your name, gentle and warm, urging you onward. The words are blurred, but the tones ring with comfort. Safe. So very safe.
To the left, the forest exhales like a half-awakened beast. A rolling mist, tinted faintly violet, curls between the trees, clinging low to the ground. It carries whispers, too, but none you can understand; not words, but impressions, rising and falling like a tide. They caress the edges of your mind, dissonant, foreign, yet uncannily steady. The mist drifts forward as if inviting you in, brushing against your skin with a promise you cannot name and yet cannot deny.
Two ways forward.
One lined with what you know.
The other with what you cannot comprehend.
The shadows tighten as you draw closer to the familiar shapes. Warm voices echo around you, each syllable dripping with comfort and nostalgia. Your chest swells with the promise of reunion, and your steps quicken toward what feels so achingly close.
But the forest has its own rhythm. The warmth you felt was fleeting. It flickers and bends, laughter twisting into something hollow. An ache blooms in your chest; a grief you didn’t know you carried. The deeper you walk, the tighter it gets around your neck, leaving marks of whispers of what you cannot reclaim, and the quiet knowledge that some losses are never meant to be mended.
The violet mist curls around your feet, twisting and stretching like living tendrils. Whispers rise from it, incomprehensible yet insistent, tugging at your thoughts and stirring your instincts. Still, you step forward, drawn by a lure you cannot name.
The fog brushes your skin like a downfallen feather, chilling and electric, a reminder that certainty has been left behind. Shapes shift at the edge of your vision, every step a question, every breath a risk. Nothing is promised here, yet every step pulses with the strange thrill of discovery; the kind that only curiosity, unshackled and fearless, can chase.
All written content is original, drawn from myth, memory, and madness.
All images are generated via Midjourney using custom prompts by the author, unless otherwise stated.
I can't explain how awesome that feels to me! Incredible job
Awww thank you so very much! This means a lot <3