William woke to pain.
It was not sharp at first, not something he could easily name or locate, but a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to exist everywhere at once, pressing behind his eyes, down his spine, into his limbs, as though his body had been shattered and carelessly stitched back together. His mouth felt like dry parchment, his tongue thick and useless, and when he tried to swallow, his throat burned in protest. For several long moments, he lay utterly still, suspended between sleep and waking, unsure whether he was alive at all or trapped in some strange afterworld where pain lingered without meaning.
When he finally forced his eyes open, the world swam.
Light filtered down through towering shapes above him, breaking into fractured patterns that hurt to look at. Everything was blurred, doubled, uncertain. He blinked repeatedly, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, until the shifting haze began to settle into something resembling reality. Above him stretched a canopy of leaves so high and dense it seemed to touch the clouds themselves, woven together in endless layers of green and gold. Shafts of sunlight pierced through in narrow columns, illuminating drifting motes of dust and pollen that shimmered in the air like faint sparks.
He tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through his body.
A strangled gasp escaped his lips as he collapsed back against the ground, clutching at his ribs and shoulders. Every muscle protested, every joint screamed, and his head throbbed so fiercely that he thought it might split open. Wherever he was, it was not where he had been falling. There was no canyon. No wind. No darkness.
I'm alive, he thought faintly.
The idea felt unreal.
His throat tightened painfully as he became aware of another sensation—an overwhelming, desperate thirst that consumed every other thought. His lips were cracked. His tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. He turned his head weakly, searching for anything that might ease the burning inside him.
That was when he heard it.
Water.
A soft, steady trickling sound nearby, gentle and persistent, like a whispered promise.
Summoning what little strength he had, William rolled onto his side and dragged himself forward inch by inch, his hands slipping on damp soil and fallen leaves. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through him, but he did not stop. He could think of nothing but water. Nothing else mattered.
At last, he reached the edge of a narrow creek.
Clear water flowed over smooth stones, catching the sunlight in flickering patterns. Without hesitation, he collapsed beside it and plunged his hands into the stream, scooping desperately and bringing the water to his mouth. He drank greedily, coughing and spluttering as it spilled down his chin and soaked his shirt, but he did not care. He drank again and again until the burning in his throat faded to a dull ache and his thoughts began to clear.
Only then did he lift his head.
Only then did he truly see where he was.
The forest around him was unlike anything he had ever known.
The trees were enormous, their trunks thick and ancient, rising so high that their crowns vanished into mist and light. Their bark was pale and peeling in places, dark and ridged in others, marked by age and weather and secrets older than memory. Strange birds flitted between branches, their feathers bright with impossible colours, calling to one another in sharp, musical cries. Insects hummed and buzzed in endless waves, filling the air with life and movement, so loud and constant that it felt like the forest itself was breathing.
The ground beneath him was warm.
The air was heavy and rich with unfamiliar scents—earth, resin, flowering plants he could not name.
This is not home, he realised slowly.
Panic rose in his chest.
Where am I?
He pushed himself upright with shaking arms and turned in a slow circle, searching desperately for anything familiar. There were no fields. No cottages. No stone walls or hedgerows. No roads. No signs of people at all. Only endless wilderness stretching in every direction.
I fell, he thought. I was falling… and then…
Memory returned in a crushing wave.
The soldiers.
The arrows.
The canyon.
His mother's face.
His father's voice.
His breath caught painfully, and before he could stop himself, a broken sound tore from his throat. He staggered toward the creek's edge and sank down onto the sand and stones, his body folding inward as though trying to protect itself from unbearable truth.
They're gone.
The words repeated endlessly in his mind.
They're gone. They're gone. They're gone.
He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
It was not quiet crying. It was not dignified or controlled. It was the desperate, shuddering grief of a child who had lost everything in a single morning. His shoulders shook violently. His breath came in ragged gasps. Tears poured freely, blurring the strange forest into meaningless colour and light.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I tried. I tried…"
No one answered.
Only birdsong and running water filled the space where his parents' voices should have been.
"I don't know what to do," he murmured. "I don't know where I am. I don't know how to go back."
His words dissolved into sobs.
For a long time, he remained there, small and broken on the shore of an unknown land, mourning the life that had been stolen from him and the future he had never been allowed to have, unaware that the forest itself was watching, listening, and quietly preparing to change his fate forever.