Albert woke up to the faint sound of crackling fire. The scent of burning wood lingered in the air, mixed with the faint dampness of the forest. His body felt heavy, while his mind felt dazed.
He found himself lying on a wooden bed inside a small hut. The walls were made of old planks—rough and uneven, with thin streams of light slipping through the gaps.
He also noticed the ragged clothes he was wearing.
He stared at the ceiling for a while before realizing something was off. His chest didn't quickly rise and fall the way it should. There was no heartbeat but only a faint warmth pulsing beneath his skin, centered where his heart should be.
When he sat up, a pain struck—not from the flesh, but from something deeper. He pressed his hand against his chest and froze. A faint red shimmer flickered beneath his palm, forming an intricate knot-like mark that disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
Before he could think, a voice spoke behind him.
"You shouldn't touch that."
Albert turned his head. A woman stood by the doorway, holding a small pot. Her hair was gray, and her face carried a set of wrinkles. She wore ragged clothes and wooden sandals. Her eyes, however, were unsettling—like they had seen so much.
"Where am I?" Albert asked with a hoarse voice.
"The plane... A place where the soul resides," the woman replied. Her tone was old and flat, but her words carried a quiet weight that made Albert uneasy.
"I see… so I died back then, after all." He murmured, adjusting himself to sit properly.
The woman looked at him, then shook her head. "Not quite. You're still alive, but not in the way you know."
"Then... why am I here? Isn't this supposed to be a place for souls?" Albert asked, feeling confused.
"I don't know... And even if I knew, and told you, your feeble soul might not be able to bear the truth," she said in a soft, pitiless voice.
The weight of her words settled deep in his chest, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the truth.
Then she added, "What I know is that the Plane accepted you, but it also bound you here, preventing your return—unless your soul ascends to a higher plane."
"A higher plane…" Albert whispered, his eyes narrowing in thought.
He then folded his hands, seemingly lost in a daze.
Then he looked at his arms and noticed that his pulse is still there.
"Do souls retain bodies similar to the ones they had when they were alive?" He wondered.
"It's only possible for those who dwell on a higher plane—a Divine." The old lady replied, her voice was old yet calm.
"Then why does it feel like I still have my body?" Albert asked in confusion.
The woman turned, her steps slow and deliberate as she approached Albert. Her eyes locked onto him with quiet intent.
Albert sat motionless, uncertain of what to do.
After a long pause, she withdrew her gaze.
"The reason you still have your body is that the knot acted as a medium, binding both your body and soul. I recognise that knot, It's an artifact that prevents you from dying in a fatal attack, but it only lasts for a brief moment. Something or someone had deliberately altered its nature, changing to what it is now... As long as you have the knot, you will not die." The old lady remarked.
"Then… can I just return back now?"
"No. Not with that weak soul," she said, her voice distant. Then she continued, "the process consumes a tremendous portion of your soul—so much that even a divine's essence might be reduced to that of a mortal for a time. Recovery can take years. "Some divines find ways to occupy themselves, reminiscing about their mortal days. Some might conquer, others might lead, and a few may even find love…"
"I see... So I need to strengthen my soul first," he whispered quietly.
Silence filled the room as Albert watched the woman stir the pot. After a moment, she handed him a bowl of soup.
The liquid was faintly transparent, shimmering with resplendent hues that shifted like distant light beneath water.
Albert couldn't help but feel uneasy.
"Do you not like it? I specially made it for you," she said, watching him closely.
"No, haha… it's not that. It just looks a little different," Albert replied awkwardly.
"Food here can only replenish the soul, not the body," she explained. "So I made one that nourishes both. I believe you understand what that means." Her tone calm but deliberate.
"So I'll starve to death if I only eat the usual food here..." Albert answered while staring at the faint glow within the bowl.
He hesitated for a moment, but eventually took a slow sip of the soup. The taste was light, almost plain, but as it touched his throat, a warmth spread through him—as though something deep within was being restored.
Nara looked at him, seemingly studying him in silence.
"The soup is good... I feel like my body's recovering faster," Albert said with an awkward smile.
"Heh. It's best if you rest for now," she said tersely.
Albert didn't reply, continuing his meal. The flickering fire reflected faintly in his eyes, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then his eyes caught something beside the fire—a small basket. Inside lay the same baby he had carried.
"Love..." He whispered.
The child slept soundly, wrapped in cloth, its face no longer dry as he remembered.
"The child will stay here. I'll take care of it," the woman said in a calm tone.
Albert looked at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. She turned toward the window, watching the trees sway under the cold light.
"I know its mother," she added, her tone tinged with sorrow.
Albert fell silent for a moment, then he finally asked.
"What's your name?"
The woman paused. "Names bear too much weight. But if you must call me something… you may call me Nara."
"Nara…" he repeated in a faint voice.
Albert turned his gaze towards the window. Beyond it, the forest seemed motionless. No birds, no rustling branches, no signs of life. Even the wind that had whispered through the cracks earlier had gone still. It was as if the entire forest had fallen asleep.
Albert fell silent as thoughts ran through his mind
"I know what you're thinking," Nara said in a stern voice. "But once you step outside, you may never return." she added as she turned around.
Nara walked towards the basket and gently cradled the baby in her arms.
"Still… you may try" she said softly after a pause, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
He wasn't sure if he should be scared, but the heaviness in his chest is urging him to push forward. He needed to know where he was… or at least what was happening to him.
After a brief moment of contemplation, he slowly stood up and walked towards the door and said, "I will try".
Nara looked at him, a faint hint of amusement in her eyes.
He then placed his hand on the wooden handle and pushed it gently as the hinges creaked softly.
The moment he stepped outside, the air seemingly changed. It wasn't cold or warm—it simply felt alive, like it was aware of his presence. The forest stretched endlessly in all directions, but it wasn't the same forest he remembered. The trees were the same shape, the same height, but their bark seemed to shimmer faintly, as if it's reflecting light that wasn't there.
He took a cautious step forward. The sound of his foot against the ground didn't echo—it just vanished, absorbed by the silence.
"Hello?" His voice came out strained.
No one answered.
Only the sound of the wind or something that mimicked it was brushing against the leaves.
He kept walking, one slow step at a time.
Each time he blinked, the forest seemed to shift slightly.
Suddenly, a fallen branch appeared a few meters away, then disappeared again. It was subtle, yet apparent.
Albert stopped.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe it was aftereffects of the strange night he'd had. But when he looked again, the trees ahead felt… wrong.
They weren't standing still.
They were breathing!
Their trunks swelled gently, expanding and contracting, like lungs filling with air. The sound was faint but rhythmic—slow and deliberate.
"Indeed, the trees are alive!" He thought in fear.
Albert stumbled back as he realize what was happening, his heart began to race and started to become heavy. The warmth pulsing beneath his chest seemingly became more obvious.
The more he understood his surroundings, the more puzzled his mind became. Then came the whispers—countless murmurs surging through his mind!
He felt like his skull was splitting open. The air around him twisted, bending the light and sound as if the world itself was rejecting him. He clutched his head, falling to one knee as his thoughts scattered—memories, voices, and shadows tearing through his mind.
Just when it felt like he would be ripped apart, a calm yet commanding voice cut through the chaos.
"That's enough."
The forest, once alive and breathing, now stood silent—as if holding its breath. Only the faint sound of his warm pulsing chest remained echoing, like a reminder that he shouldn't be there.
Albert gasped for air, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. The pain in his head lingered, sharp and unrelenting. Then, from the edge of the fading distortion, Nara stepped forward with a calm figure.
"How was it?" she asked, her aged voice laced with quiet amusement.
Albert looked up at her, his eyes were wide and unfocused.
"This is the Plane. You aren't meant to be here, but I suppose you have your own fate." she added in a low, detached tone.
The words sank deep and heavy. Everything around him seemed to calm down, yet his insides were still screaming.
"Fate..." Albert said with a weak voice.