The Unison Mountains rose like ancient titans, their four jagged crowns tearing through the morning sky with ease.
For such a spacious landscape, the formation looked strangely uneven, as though a fifth peak should have stood among them.
Despite being part of one connected range, each mountain had developed a life of its own over generations.
Settlements scattered across their slopes, villages both famous and forgotten filling the range. What seemed almost sullen and gloomy to the outside world was, to those who lived there, a place filled with home and belonging despite its isolation.
The people remained united despite being spread across the mountains, always aware of one another and ensuring that no one was ever lost.
At night, lanterns and torches shone brightly across the villages. The darker the sky grew, the more vivid the torches became, guiding the lost back home and revealing the number of people who resided within them.
They made it easy to distinguish the size of each village, keeping the range radiant even as night crept over it.
But today, an unnatural grey veil covered the fourth ridge, swallowing Everdream Forest.
BOOM!
The trees and grass swayed violently as the mist expanded, swallowing the forest's colours and making it impossible to see through.
A figure burst from the fog.
A young man.
His long, dishevelled black hair fell to his lower back as he ran frantically through the trees. Blood and dirt streaked his body beneath his torn, ashen robes.
His hands were mangled and cut, his face scarred, yet the pain he felt was no less than a dagger hovering over his heart, threatening to pop it like a flimsy balloon.
Mustering the strength to keep running, Oren stifled a shriek.
"Dammit, they are still on my tail," he cursed.
His face paled.
'Too loud!'
As if worrying about being caught was not enough, a fallen log blocked his path.
'Should I turn around?'
...Fight them? Kill them?
Oren had already fought them all to a standstill, injuring each of them in the process.
He had blinded their leader and maimed all but the eldest, the most treacherous and foul among them.
They were all of the Enlightened rank, or so he assumed, yet despite being mundane, Oren had managed to fight them all to a standstill.
In the end, the damage he caused was significant in comparison to what they had done to him.
He had only escaped with a few wounds. So most likely, they would not stop until they captured him.
His vision blurred.
Trapped in the endless mist, all Oren could do was run.
He leapt over the log, then staggered forward.
As he regained speed, numerous voices tore through the silent grey fog, reaching him in an instant.
"You fetch a high price here in the Fourth. Die silently, and you will have a humane burial… this is more than you deserve."
"Accept your fate and die. You do not even deserve a burial. You will rot like the people you killed. The villages you destroyed will not fade away in vain."
Oren grunted and stumbled to the left, his golden eyes widening in shock as another voice echoed. Unlike the others, it was gentle, strangely calm, and unfamiliar.
"Take this gift."
In the next moment, Oren swayed to the right and let out a pained groan.
A river of blood burst from his neck as an arrow made crimson with his blood pierced his throat, hurling him forward in a violent tremor.
'There's an archer!'
Oren grimaced as he sprawled across the grass, then forced himself up and ran.
His neck burned, as though caught in a blazing flame that refused to fade.
'What is this! Poison?'
'Aghh!'
Oren snarled as he ran without looking back, dodging in and out of the trees, depending on his other senses, ears attuned to their rustling leaves.
He was able to fight hand to hand, sword to sword, but he did not have a bow.
But now, with an archer against him, there was nowhere left to run... nowhere left to return to.
'I refuse to believe this…'
How could he, a person who relied only on himself, fall because of his own hesitation?
He gritted his teeth.
The eerie silence of the forest made every thought and emotion feel like an unwelcome plague upon his mind.
Oren laughed inwardly.
That damned archer.
'Are they also of the Enlightened rank?'
He had seen through the fog as if it were nothing, his aim ruthless, impeccable, and unerring.
The single crimson arrow remained lodged in Oren's throat, stealing his breath and making his lungs burn.
If it were anyone, anyone but him, death would be instant.
Yet Oren was not worried.
This was not the first time his body had been pushed this far.
There were wounds that would have ended a mortal's life before they had even realised what happened, injuries that would have left nothing behind but a corpse and a trail of blood.
Oren had endured them all before, but it was not something he had acquired recently, nor was it a gift he had ever needed to remind himself of.
...Because he would always survive. He would survive because he was cursed, he could not die, he was undying, he was... immortal.
And true to his thoughts, the grievous wounds closed almost instantly.
But his regeneration was not immediate.
The blood dripping from his body had seeped into the verdure beneath his feet.
Even if it were to miraculously rain, the vermilion trail he left would still remain for the warriors of Everdream to follow.
Oren stumbled against a tree, finding a fleeting clarity in the frigid bark beneath his hand.
No, he could not rest, not now.
'I need to run!'
Oren pushed off the tree, forcing himself into motion.
He must escape these mindless hunters.
He dodged between trees, logs, and branches again and again. His muscles screamed, and his lungs burned.
Yet he did not stop.
He shook his head as exhaustion clawed at him.
But in the end, his senses dulled and his abyssal golden eyes slowly shut.
'Sleep…'
...
Hours passed. The mist thinned between the trees, and the illusory fog faded, swept away by a wandering breeze, restoring the forest's vibrance and beauty.
Light filtered through the branches as dawn broke, the crimson sun rising into sight, casting shadows across the grass.
The great forest stirred with quiet indifference, uncaring of the immortal demon who lay against the trunk of an enormous tree, in a deep slumber.
But Selvar was anything but indifferent.
The young man stood over the gruesome, off-putting figure with a smile, humming an upbeat tune.
His pale blonde hair hung slightly overgrown, brushing his lower neck.
Soft grey eyes held a reserved fascination as he looked down staring at the twisted face of the abominable demon, then grinned.
"Immortal Demon... it might just be the perfect name for him."
He laughed, then continued humming.
"Oh, but I am not one to judge by looks."
Then the archer grimaced coldly, sparing the arrow in his neck a look of disdain.
"Penetrating wound to the neck. Lacerations across his exposed skin. An incision on his left hand... unconscious? Deceased?"
He felt tempted to check the man's pulse, but before he could, his humming suddenly stopped.
His gaze lingered on the man's chest as it rose and fell.
He was breathing.
"Still alive...? Even in this state..."
After a moment, he chuckled quietly and exhaled.
"It seems he really is immortal. Then again, perhaps that's for the best. I need him alive... for Unison."
Lying beneath the archer, Oren's back twitched against the tree.
Hearing the archer's strange words, his eyes opened and froze.
For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was.
The unfamiliar surroundings slowly came into focus. A pale morning sky. Vibrant trees stretching far and wide. He was in a forest, leaning against a tree.
'Erdream Forest...? I fell asleep! The fog... its gone. Does that mean...Are they here!?'
A blood-red greatbow immediately caught his attention, its string still slack as though it had only just been loosed.
Beneath it rested a black quiver, cradling several scarlet arrows.
The next thing he noticed was the man it belonged to.
The human standing before him was young and handsome, only slightly shorter than his own full height.
He had no wounds or scars, yet his skin was unusually pale, as if he had lost a severe amount of blood.
'I don't remember him?'
He had not been there in the harrowing battle. Oren knew that for sure, even if his memory had been getting worse over the decades.
Selvar's movements froze as Oren's hand found the scarlet arrow lodged in his neck.
Selvar tried to speak, but could not say anything.
Oren, however, wore a distant look as he stuttered. His voice came out as a low, ragged rasp.
"The one you call demon is me... Have you come to capture me too...?"