The forest Norian trudged through was a paradox of beauty and dread, a place where nature's splendor clashed with an oppressive, eerie silence.
Towering trees stretched toward a canopy so dense it choked out the sunlight, casting the forest floor in a perpetual twilight. The air was heavy, suffocating, devoid of even the faintest breeze, as if the forest itself held its breath.
The scent of decay hung thick—rotten leaves and damp earth mingled with the faint, acrid tang of something long dead. Each step Norian took crunched through layers of fallen leaves, their brittle, decomposing forms feeling as though they might swallow him whole, pulling him into the forest's decaying heart.
The distant, guttural growls of unseen beasts echoed faintly, their origins impossible to pinpoint, amplifying the sense that danger lurked just beyond the next tree.Norian's mind was a storm of chaos, his thoughts spiraling as fear tightened its grip.
Sweat drenched his brow, trickling down his temples despite the cool, stagnant air. His wide eyes darted frantically, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement—a predator, a monster, something ready to lunge from the underbrush.
His heart pounded erratically, each beat a hammer against his ribcage, skipping every time a twig snapped or a leaf rustled.
His legs trembled beneath him, threatening to collapse under the weight of his terror. His stomach churned, a nauseating knot of dread that made him feel as though he might retch.
His head throbbed, the pressure building as if his skull might split open, overwhelmed by the sensory assault of the forest and his own spiraling panic.
'I can't do this. Something's out there. It's watching me. It knows I'm here. I'm not safe. I'll never be safe out here.'
The cave he had fled from earlier, a cramped, shadowed refuge that had sheltered him from the monstrous Mire Golem, now loomed in his mind as a beacon of safety.
In this moment, it was more than just a cave—it was salvation, a sanctuary where the forest's suffocating dread couldn't reach him. His gaze locked onto the dark mouth of the cave, its jagged outline a stark contrast to the oppressive green around him.
Nothing else existed in his world; the forest, the sounds, the decay—all faded into a blur. His legs, shaky and weak, propelled him forward in a desperate sprint, driven by a primal need for safety.
The distance to the cave, which had seemed so short before, now stretched into an endless expanse. Each step felt like wading through molasses, his body fighting against the exhaustion and fear threatening to drag him down.
'Just get to the cave. It's safe there. It has to be safe. If I can just make it, I'll be okay. Please, let me make it.'
After what felt like an eternity, Norian stumbled into the cave's embrace. The moment he crossed the threshold, his body gave out, collapsing from sheer relief.
His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, dragging himself toward the farthest corner, as far from the entrance as he could manage.
He curled into a tight ball, knees pressed against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, as if making himself smaller could shield him from the terror outside.
His body shook uncontrollably, his wide eyes staring into the darkness, still half-expecting some monstrous shape to emerge from the forest.
His head pounded, the pain a relentless drumbeat, and his heart raced as if it might burst. Despite the humid warmth of the forest, he felt a bone-deep cold, a chill born of fear rather than temperature.
He pressed himself against the rough cave wall, wishing he could melt into it, become part of its unyielding stone to escape the vulnerability of his own flesh.
'I'm safe here. I have to be. Nothing can find me here. But what if it does? What if it knows I'm here? I can't let it find me. I can't…'
Norian's fear was all-consuming, a visceral force that drowned out reason. Every sound from the forest—a distant snap, a low growl—sent a fresh wave of panic through him, his body flinching as if struck.
He felt exposed, as though his very existence in the cave was a beacon to whatever horrors prowled outside. His mind raced with images of claws and teeth, of being torn apart if he was discovered.
The cave, though a refuge, was also a trap—its confines both protected and confined him, amplifying his sense of helplessness. Yet, in this moment, it was all he had, and he clung to it like a drowning man to a lifeline.
*****
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✶ Dimension Walker ✶
✧ The Veiled Paragon ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
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*****
The small cave, once Norian's sanctuary from the terrors of the forest, had transformed into a suffocating prison.
Its jagged walls, cold and unyielding, seemed to close in with every passing hour. The dim light filtering through the entrance had shifted from the pale glow of morning to the golden haze of afternoon, and now, as dusk crept closer, the cave was bathed in a deepening gloom.
The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of damp stone and Norian's own sweat. Outside, the forest remained eerily silent—no growls, no snapping twigs, no monsters.
But the absence of danger did nothing to ease the vise gripping Norian's heart. The cave, which had promised safety, now mocked him with its confines, trapping him in a cycle of fear and self-loathing.
Norian sat curled in the far corner, his back pressed against the rough stone, knees drawn tight to his chest. His body trembled, not from cold but from the relentless churn of his mind.
Hours earlier, he had found a fleeting moment of calm, enough to stand and take a tentative step toward the cave's entrance. But the moment his foot crossed the threshold, terror surged like a tidal wave.
His heart pounded—
thump-thump-thump
—a frantic rhythm that drowned out reason. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale sharp and shallow, like shards of glass in his lungs. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, as he stumbled back to the corner, collapsing in a heap.
Crunch went the loose pebbles under his weight. He tried again—once, twice, countless times—each attempt met with the same paralyzing dread. Each failure carved deeper into his soul, fueling a hatred for the weak, pathetic version of himself he couldn't escape.
'Just move, damn it. Just walk out. It's just a step. Why can't I do it? Why am I so fucking useless?'
Now, as dusk painted the cave in shades of gray, Norian was unrecognizable. His bloodshot eyes, wide and unblinking, stared into the void, the whites stark against his tear-streaked face.
His teeth ground together—
grrrnd
—the sound echoing faintly in the cave, a grating reminder of his fraying sanity. Tears streamed down his cheeks, not the desperate sobs of fear but the bitter, burning tears of frustration and resignation.
His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms until they drew blood. He hated himself—hated the trembling mess he'd become, hated the boy who couldn't take a single step outside, hated the life that had shaped him into this.
'I'm nothing. I've always been nothing. They were right. Everyone was right.'
His mind was a battlefield, memories of his past crashing against the present like waves against a crumbling shore.
He saw their faces—the bullies from Veltharion, the ones who'd taunted him, stolen from him, beaten him down until he was less than human.
Their laughter rang in his ears—
Hahahaha
—sharp and mocking, each jeer a blade slicing through his fragile hope.
"You're cursed,"
They'd said, and the world had agreed. In Veltharion, people avoided him like a plague, their eyes sliding past him as if he were invisible.
Even when he moved to a new city, the whispers followed. The part-time jobs he worked exploited his desperation, paying him pennies for grueling hours, their pity laced with contempt.
"At least they hired me,"
He'd told himself, clinging to scraps of gratitude.Middle school had brought a flicker of hope—someone had seen him, talked to him, treated him like a person.
But that light was snuffed out quickly. The bullying returned, worse than ever. Five boys, their faces twisted with glee, took his money, spat curses, and turned his existence into a spectacle.
"You're a curse, Norian. Just disappear."
The others watched, their silence louder than any taunt. When four of the bullies faced "consequences"—rumors of bad luck or worse—the fifth remained, relentless, untouchable.
His father, the head of the police, ensured no one would help. Norian was trapped, just like now, caught in a cycle of fear and powerlessness.
'Why can't I fight back? Why can't I just DO SOMETHING? I'm so fucking weak! WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?!'
His thoughts spiraled, a whirlwind of self-hatred and despair. He saw every moment he'd failed to stand up, every time he'd swallowed his pain, every dream they'd mocked.
"A Walker? You? You're too pathetic to be anything."
The words echoed, relentless, until they were all he could hear. His hands shot to his hair, yanking at the strands—
rip, rip—
as if he could tear the thoughts from his mind. He slapped his face, the sharp crack reverberating in the cave, his nails clawing at his cheeks until they left red, angry welts.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
He screamed inwardly, but the memories kept coming—their laughter, their taunts, the weight of being unwanted, unseen, unworthy.Exhausted,
Norian slumped against the cave wall, his body heavy, his spirit hollow. His eyes, once wild with panic, were now empty, staring blankly at the cave's entrance. The tears had stopped, leaving salty trails on his scratched, battered face.
His hands fell limp, bloodied nails resting on the cold stone. Resignation settled over him like a shroud.
'Maybe they're right. Maybe I should just give up.'
The thought was quiet, final, a surrender to the weight of his existence. The cave, once his refuge, was now a mirror of his life—a small, dark space where he was trapped, alone, with no way out.
'What's the point? I'll never be anything. I'll never be free.'
***
The cave, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb, its cold stone walls pressing in on Norian as he sat huddled in the corner, his body a fragile shell for a fractured mind. The air was thick, stale, carrying the faint, bitter scent of damp earth and his own despair.
His knees were drawn tight to his chest, his arms wrapped around them as if holding himself together. His bloodied, tear-streaked face bore the marks of his earlier spiral—red welts from scratching, bruises from his own fists.
The tattered remnants of his t-shirt, now makeshift bandages, clung to his wounds, a testament to his unraveling. The orange glow of dusk seeped through the cave's entrance, casting a warm, fleeting light across his hollowed features, illuminating the chaos within.
Norian's mind churned, a relentless storm of memories and questions. When had it all gone wrong? When had the label "cursed" become his shadow? Was it the orphanage fire, the flames licking at his childhood innocence?
Or his sister's fall down the stairs after their fight, her screams echoing in his guilt? Or perhaps it was earlier, the day he was born. He remembered that day.
It etched in the moment his father's hands closed around his throat, those eyes—cold, unyielding, murderous—burning into his soul. His mother's silent complicity, her gaze averted, stabbed deeper than any blade.
Knife-twist in the chest. The memory surged, vivid and raw, each recollection a fresh wound. Maybe I should've died that day.
The thought blurred his vision, tears spilling anew—not of fear, but of bone-deep pain, loneliness, and self-loathing. He tried to stifle his sobs, biting his lip until it bled, but the dam broke.
A wail tore from his throat, raw and childlike, echoing off the cave walls—
waaahhh
—ears and snot mixing as he collapsed to his right, curling into himself.
'Why me? What did I do to deserve this? All I wanted was a family, someone to see me. Is that so fucking hard?'
The weight of his life pressed down—years of being shunned, labeled a curse, avoided like a plague. The bullying, the isolation, the exploitation at dead-end jobs, the betrayal of those who'd briefly offered kindness only to turn cruel.
Every suppressed complaint, every unspoken hurt, had bottled up until this moment, when it shattered him.
"I was right,"
He whispered through sobs, voice cracking.
"I should never have been born. It's too hard."
The words tasted rotten, bitter, like the bile rising in his throat. His cries shook his frame, each sob a release of pain he'd carried too long. Slowly, the wails softened to sniffles, his body too exhausted to sustain the outburst.
He lay there, spent, the orange dusk light bathing his face in a warmth he'd forgotten existed.That warmth stirred something new, something unfamiliar.
Norian's bloodshot eyes fixed on the cave's entrance, where the light poured in, soft and golden. It wasn't just light—it was a call, a pull toward something beyond survival, beyond being seen. He wanted to see.
To step outside and look up at the sky, to witness the source of that warmth illuminating the world. The desire grew, a faint spark in the hollow of his chest, intensifying with each heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Steady, not frantic. He shifted, pressing a trembling hand against the cave wall for support. Slowly, he started to get up.
He looked at the entrance. His t-shirt, now used as bandages, clung to his battered frame. His face, bloodied and wounded, bore the marks of his spiraling emotions.
And the orange light of dusk falling on his figure felt like the only warm thing in this cold, decaying world.He took the first step—shaky, weak, unsure of its purpose.
Crunch went the gravel beneath his foot. Then another step.
Crunch.
Then another, and another. With each step, his resolve grew, a faint flicker of something igniting in his hollow eyes. His heart beat in a steady rhythm, not the violent tremor of before.
He stopped at the entrance, the threshold between his prison and the world beyond. An invisible barrier seemed to hold him back, a weight of fear and doubt.
He reached out a trembling hand—nothing. Just air. He took a deep breath, chest rising with the effort, and held it.
Hiss.
Then, he took another step. This time, he didn't stop until he was outside the cave.The forest greeted him, its air still heavy with decay, its silence still eerie, but different. Alive.
The trees, bathed in the fading dusk, seemed to stir, as if waking from a long slumber. Norian's heart trembled—not with the paralyzing panic of before, but with a quiet awe.
He spread his arms, palms open to the sky, and took a deep breath. Hiss. The air still smelled rotten, but it carried a hint of something new—possibility.
He looked up at the source of the light, the sun sinking behind the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. A small smile spread across his face. With his wounds and bloodied features, it looked almost haunting, but it was genuine.
Not the forced mask he'd worn for others, but a smile born of this fleeting moment of peace. He couldn't recall the last time he'd smiled like this. He didn't want to.
All he wanted was to stand here, free, basking in a warmth that felt like his alone. No fear of monsters, no echoes of taunts. Just peace. And he liked that.
'This… this is enough. Just for now, this is enough.'
-To Be Continued