The first thing I felt upon regaining consciousness wasn't an impact. I hadn't fallen. I was already lying on the ground.
After the blinding vortex of light and the million whispers echoing in my skull, an absolute, deceptive silence and softness took over. The first real sensation was the softness of a damp, dense, and resilient carpet of leaves beneath my back. It wasn't cold. It was strangely warm, as if the earth itself was exhaling heat.
Then the scent hit me, so intense it made me choke. It was the smell of life at its most primal level. The fresh, heady aroma of damp earth after a heavy rain, the musk of a thousand fungi decomposing fallen leaves, and above all, a pungent sap mixed with a sweet, wild floral scent, almost like jasmine but stronger, wilder.
I slowly opened my eyes.
The world blurred, then snapped into focus. I had to squint, not because of the glare, but because of how the light behaved. Streaks of golden sunlight, thick as liquid honey, danced through a rich green canopy. They didn't just illuminate; they seemed to fall, striking the giant fern leaves below and shattering into sparkling golden dust.
I lay there, staring up. The canopy was so dense I felt it had completely obscured the sky.
I shot up, my heart hammering in my chest. I spun around, scanning wildly for the one thing that mattered. The stone gate. The black stone arch carved with Tasico script.
But there was nothing. Just the base of a colossal tree, a wall of gnarled, dark roots and bark. The Tasico Gate, my entrance, had vanished without a trace.
There was no one. The silence crashed down on me like a bucket of ice water. I could feel the loneliness, a silence so profound I could hear my own heartbeat. This was a primal solitude. I was almost certainly the only living person in sight, my world swallowed by a forest that didn't belong to my own. I whispered, "This must be the Valley of Echoes."
My own voice sounded strange, faint, instantly devoured by the dense silence.
I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the panic rising in my chest. The Emperor had warned me: "There is no way back until you find the Lighthouse."
I checked my gear. Hana's cloth bag was still slung across my shoulder. I opened it. The small leather-bound book—the Tasico dictionary—was on top. I grabbed it, feeling the familiar, worn leather. This was my only connection to understanding. Beneath it was the food packet: honey-toasted bread and dried meat. They were still intact, wrapped tightly. On my wrist, Quick's leather bracer remained, a rough reminder of strength and perseverance.
I stood, brushing leaves from my clothes. I looked up at the ancient trees. They were so tall I had to crane my neck all the way back to see their peaks, lost in a sea of emerald green. The trunks were massive, too large for several people to encircle, their bark cracked and ancient. I had the feeling that if I yelled, the sound would take minutes to echo back from the top.
I needed a weapon. I couldn't go empty-handed. I scanned the forest floor and found what I needed: a large, dry branch, probably broken in a storm, wedged between two roots. It was surprisingly dense and heavy, almost petrified. I picked it up, broke off the splintered end, and fashioned it into a long, sturdy quarterstaff. It gave me a thin sliver of confidence.
With that done, I shouldered my bag, gripped the staff, and began to move cautiously. But where to?
I couldn't get my bearings. There was no sun to navigate by through the thick canopy. I could only follow my instincts, trying to find clearer ground, a hill, anything that might give me a vantage point. But the forest was terrifyingly silent.
No squirrels rustling. No familiar insect hum. Just the sound of my own footsteps on the thick leaf litter, and occasionally, a strange bird call from far away. The song wasn't melodic; it was sharp and short, like breaking glass.
I walked and walked. Time seemed to stand still here. I didn't know if I'd been walking for an hour or three. The scenery didn't change: just the colossal pillars of the ancient forest, ferns that grew taller than my head, and that strange, diffused golden light.
And then, I started to hear them.
The Echoes.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. A whisper, faint as the wind, but there was no wind. The sound of a woman sobbing, lasting only a second before cutting off. The clang of metal on stone.
I froze, my heart pounding. "Hello?" I called out.
Only silence answered. The Valley of Echoes. I remembered Hana's father's words. A demi-plane. The souls of the failed. A shiver ran down my spine. I gripped my staff tighter and walked faster, trying to shake off the ghostly sounds.
I was climbing over a massive set of roots, as large as a low wall, when I heard a sound that was absolutely real.
A desperate scream. It wasn't an echo. It was terrified, and it was close.
The scream came again, this time a man's angry roar in a strange language. It was immediately followed by the savage snarl of a beast. A deep, throaty growl, but mixed with a strange cracking sound, like dry wood being splintered.
Finally. Something tangible.
Without hesitation, I ducked behind the nearest ancient tree. My whole body tensed. I crept forward, moving from one trunk to the next, holding my breath. The forest's scent was now overpowered by a foul stench, a thick animal musk and the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood.
I carefully parted a curtain of dense ferns, and the scene before me made me freeze.
It was a small clearing, likely where an ancient tree had fallen centuries ago, creating a hole in the canopy that let the brilliant yellow light shine straight down.
In the middle of it, a group of three people was surrounded.
Their enemies weren't human. It was a pack of wolves, but unlike any I'd ever seen in any book. They were larger than a normal wolf, easily standing chest-high to a man. But their fur was what made my skin crawl. It wasn't soft. It was stiff, ragged, and a mottled grayish-brown like dry tree bark, growing in patches, like scales, like natural armor. They moved with terrifying agility, but every step made a dry, clicking, rustling sound. And their eyes—they were glowing red, not a magical light, but a sick, muddy crimson, burning with savage hunger. There were at least six of them.
And the three people. The one taking the brunt, holding a narrow pass between two boulders, was a tall young man with shoulder-length silver hair, tied back loosely. He was roaring commands in the language I guessed was ancient Tasico. He wielded a round, metal shield, its surface dented and scarred, blocking the lunges of the "bark-wolves."
Each impact wasn't the thud of flesh on metal, but a piercing shriek, like a hard branch scraping steel. His shield arm trembled with the effort, and on his unguarded bicep and shoulder, several deep scratches oozed dark red blood.
Behind him, moving in the cramped space, was a young woman with dark brown hair tied in a high ponytail. She moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, constantly drawing and firing a shortbow, sending arrows with pinpoint accuracy. Each shaft seemed to find a gap in the wolves' "bark"—in an eye, at a joint. But their numbers were too great. She would drop one, only for two more to take its place. I noticed her quiver was almost empty.
And cowering behind the shield-bearer was the third person. A boy.
He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, with a messy shock of straw-colored hair. He clutched a small leather pouch to his chest, his face pale with terror. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were wide, watching the snarling wolves, his body trembling. He was completely petrified.
The fight was fierce. The silver-haired man was clearly an experienced warrior, using his shield as a weapon to bash a wolf that tried to get past him. The archer was a perfect support, picking off any that tried to flank. But they were losing.
The wolves were too patient. They were wearing them down. The alpha, a beast significantly larger than the others with a patch of bark on its back as dark as ebony, was hanging back, observing, its crimson eyes calculating.
I knew I had to act. I've seen too much death. Even if they were hostile to me, I couldn't abandon them, especially the boy. He reminded me of myself, small and terrified in a cruel world. I saw it. The alpha wolf lifted its head and gave a short, dry howl. A signal.
One of the bark-wolves at the edge of the fray suddenly disengaged. It didn't attack head-on. It faded back, melting into the ferns, moving with terrifying silence as it slunk around the side.
Its target wasn't the warrior or the archer. Its target was the boy.
The silver-haired man and the archer were too focused on the three wolves attacking them directly. They didn't see the flanking threat. The wolf crouched low, muscles coiling, preparing for a finishing leap.
I was out of time. I yelled, "LOOK OUT!"
I shouted in my own language, a sharp cry that cut through the sounds of battle. I instantly realized my mistake. I knew they wouldn't understand.
The silver-haired man snapped his head toward me, his eyes (an incredible ice-blue) wide with shock. He roared something in Tasico, probably "Who are you?" The archer flinched for a split second, just long enough for a wolf's claws to rake her shoulder, tearing her sleeve. My shout had distracted them. But not the wolf. My yell only made it accelerate.
No more time. I gripped the staff, burst from my cover like an arrow. The forest blurred around me. I saw only the wolf and the boy.
I put all my strength, every ounce of fear and anger, into one blow. I swung the heavy staff, not at the head—the bark looked too thick—so I aimed for its hip, where I guessed the joint was.
My staff connected with a sickening CRACK! It was a combination of bone breaking and dry wood splintering.
The wolf shrieked, a sound unlike any animal, and its lunge went wide. Its body crashed to the ground, missing the boy by inches. It scrambled to get up, its right hind leg now bent at an unnatural, grotesque angle.
It spun its head, its red eyes locking onto me. The beast snarled, ignoring the boy, and transferred all of its hatred to me.
I stumbled back a step, raising my staff defensively. My palms were slick with sweat. The staff vibrated from the force of the impact. I had saved the boy, but now I was facing a wounded, enraged monster.
"KRENNAR! VASH!" (CAREFUL! BACK!)
The silver-haired man yelled. His voice was urgent, clearly a warning, but I didn't understand a word. I just knew I had the monster's full attention.
The injured wolf hauled itself up on three legs. It limped, bared its splintered-wood-like teeth, and lunged at me. I braced for the impact.
THWACK!
An arrow flew past my ear, so fast I only felt the wind, and embedded itself deep in the wolf's glowing red eye socket.
The beast froze, its body stiffening. It collapsed, twitched a few times, and lay still.
I gasped, staggering. I looked back. The archer was lowering her bow, her chest heaving. She had just used one of her last arrows to save me.
The remaining wolves, seeing their packmate fall and a new enemy appear, suddenly hesitated. The alpha wolf snarled, glaring at me with pure hatred, then at its two remaining packmates. It let out a short howl, an order.
And just as quickly as they had appeared, the pack turned and vanished into the forest. Silence flooded the clearing, broken only by the heavy panting of four people and the reek of blood.
I stood up straight, staff still in hand, and turned to face the three of them.
The silver-haired man moved instantly, planting himself between me and the other two. He raised his shield, a short sword in his other hand now pointed directly at my chest. Blood dripped from the wound on his shoulder onto the forest floor. He was breathing hard, his ice-blue eyes filled with suspicion and wariness.
He spat a rapid-fire string of angry Tasico at me: «Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here?»
I held up my free hand, trying to signal peace. "I... I don't understand," I said in my own language. "I came to help."
The archer stepped forward, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. «Kael, stop. He saved Finn,» she said, her voice low and clear.
She looked at me, her gaze more curious than hostile. She took in my clothes, so different from their leather and fur tunics. She looked at my staff, clearly a makeshift weapon.
The language barrier stood between us, a tangible, invisible wall.
The young woman took a breath, then pointed to herself. "Elara," she said distinctly.
Then she pointed to the shield-bearer, who was still glaring at me. "Kael."
Finally, she pointed to the boy, who was peeking shyly from behind Kael. "Finn."
It clicked. They were introducing themselves. I let out a breath of relief. I pointed to myself. "Notug," I said. Then I hesitated, remembering Hana's father's words. "...Ekavel Einov."
The name "Einov" got no reaction from them. It seemed to mean nothing here.
Kael grumbled something to Elara, still unconvinced. He jerked his chin toward the forest, then at me, clearly telling me to leave.
Elara shook her head, arguing back. She pointed at me, then at the dead wolf I'd struck, then at Finn. She repeated the action, the message clear: He saved the boy's life.
Just then, Finn, the boy, stepped timidly out from his hiding spot. He looked at me, his eyes still watery with fear, but also filled with immense gratitude. He stammered a single Tasico word.
«Ta... Takk...» (Tha... Thank you...)
Kael looked at the boy, then at me. The hostility in his eyes lessened, replaced by exhaustion and confusion. He lowered his sword, though not his shield.
I suddenly remembered. "The dictionary!"
Carefully, moving slowly so as not to alarm them, I jammed my staff into the ground. I held up both hands, signaling I was reaching into my bag. Kael tensed again, but Elara nodded, giving me permission.
I slowly pulled Hana's small leather book from my bag and flipped it open, scanning the pages. I didn't know much, but Hana had taught me a few basic words. I searched. Friend. Ally. Help.
I found it. The word for "Help"—«Skjold». And the word for "Friend"—«Venn».
I pointed to the word «Venn», then to myself, and then gestured to all three of them. "Venn," I repeated, trying to mimic the pronunciation Hana had taught me.
Kael and Elara were stunned. They stared at the book. Elara stepped closer, her eyes wide. She pointed at the book, then at me, her face a mask of disbelief.
«You... you can read the Old Script? You have a Book?» she said, her voice filled with awe.
I didn't understand her words, but I understood her expression. They recognized the characters. The mystery of who I was had just deepened.
Kael looked at Elara, then down at his bleeding wound, then back into the dark forest where the wolves had vanished. He knew they would be back. They were injured, exhausted, and low on arrows. They couldn't survive another attack.
This stranger, as bizarre as he was, could fight.
Finally, Kael let out an exasperated sigh. He sheathed his sword. He gave me a sharp, definitive nod—not a welcome, but a reluctant acceptance.
He turned to Elara, said something brief, and then started moving toward the boulders, signaling for us to follow.
Surrounded by enemies, in a world I didn't understand, an ally—even a strange one I couldn't speak to—was better than none.
My journey in the Valley of Echoes was no longer a solo one.