The roar of rushing water filled my ears, mingling with the rustle of wet leaves. Mist clung to the air, cool and heavy, and every breath tasted faintly of moss and rain. I stepped carefully over slick stones, each one glistening beneath the cascade’s spray.

  “It should be around here,” I muttered, running my fingers along the damp rock wall beside the falls.

  Kraaak.

  A deep grinding sound echoed through the hollow as I pressed against a rough patch of stone. The wall shifted, groaning, and a narrow opening revealed itself.

  “Please tell me it’s ready to use,” I whispered, leaning closer to the shadowy gap.

  Dropping to my knees, I peered inside. My heart skipped.

  “There it is.”

  Resting within the hollow was a smooth, round stone swirling with four distinct colors: red, brown, white, and green. Each hue pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of a season itself.

  Slowly, I reached in and touched it.

  The moment my fingers brushed the surface, the red glow flared to life. Heat surged through the stone, like gripping a skillet straight off the fire.

  My skin seared. The acrid scent of scorched flesh filled the air, but I refused to let go.

  Just as suddenly, the heat vanished.

  The gap slammed shut.

  My hand was caught between stones. A sickening crack rang out, and pain tore up my arm like lightning.

  “Hold on,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Just a bit more.”

  The wall groaned again and the opening widened. I barely had time to gasp before the stone turned deathly cold, its white light blazed brighter. Frost raced up my wrist, numbing everything it touched. For a terrifying moment, I couldn’t tell where my hand ended anymore.

  Then the color shifted once more.

  A sharp gust erupted from the stone. Pressure tore at my hand from every angle, piling pain atop pain, but I held fast.

  Seconds stretched into an eternity, and finally the wind died. The last trace of color faded, leaving the stone dull and blackened.

  To my disbelief, the wounds on my hand healed right before my eyes, leaving only faint warmth where the pain had been.

  A dull warmth lingered deep beneath my skin, like embers buried under ash. My fingers trembled when I flexed them, sluggish, uncooperative, as if they no longer entirely belonged to me.

  In that instant, I felt it. A subtle shift inside me, like a whisper of power threading through my veins.

  [Stone of Seasons used]

  My hand throbbed once, sharply, and then went still.

  I withdrew my hand and staggered back as the wall sealed itself once more. The waterfall roared on, indifferent, as if nothing had happened at all.

  But I couldn’t stop smiling, not because of what it did, but because of what it meant.

  The hidden treasures were the same as in the game.

  Which meant… there were more waiting for me.

  [Eryndor Leafshade]

  [Soul Capacity: 1

  Vitality: 2

  Fire Resistance: 0 → 5

  Ice Resistance: 0 → 5

  Wind Resistance: 0 → 5

  Earth Resistance: 0 → 5

  Strength: 3

  Agility: 3

  Wisdom: 21

  Willpower: 134]

  [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride]

  ***

  Without wasting another second, I left the waterfall behind, following a narrow trail that wound upward through the hills. The climb was steeper than it looked. Within minutes, sweat dripped down my forehead, and my breath turned ragged.

  “I really need to exercise more,” I muttered, trudging uphill.

  The grove came into view at last, bathed in moonlight. Trees shimmered faintly, their leaves catching silver glow like scattered stars.

  Aeloria’s Keep.

  “Now comes the hard part,” I whispered.

  Instead of heading straight in, I turned toward a nearby cliff blanketed in grass and wildflowers. Dropping to my hands and knees, I began combing through the tall growth.

  Time blurred as I circled the area over and over. My knees throbbed, and pollen stung my nose and eyes until they watered uncontrollably.

  Just as I was about to take a break, I spotted it, a single, translucent flower glinting faintly beneath the moonlight.

  “Finally found you,” I said with a grin, plucking it gently from the ground.

  After a short rest, I made my way back downhill. The descent was faster, though my legs protested every step. At the base, I followed a narrow stream until it fed into a tranquil spring.

  The water was so clear it looked like polished glass.

  Staring back at me was a familiar face, a small druid’s face, with deep brown eyes that looked tired but alive, framed by messy black hair that half-covered a pair of tiny antlers.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I ran a hand through it, trying to smooth it down.

  At least I still looked like myself. Just… smaller.

  I reached into my pocket and placed the translucent flower on the water’s surface.

  It dissolved instantly, releasing a soft, floral scent. The spring pulsed once, light glowing from beneath. With a gentle bubbling sound, something rose to the surface.

  A small chalice, etched with vines and forest creatures that seemed to shift when I wasn’t looking.

  “This’ll come in handy later.”

  I dipped it into the spring. The water shimmered gold. One sip, then I downed the rest.

  It tasted like ordinary water.

  [Restorative Chalice used. Effect: Lesser Restoration activated]

  Warmth spread through my chest. The fatigue clinging to my body slowly eased, replaced by a comforting lightness, like waking from a short nap.

  The faint silver glow that once wrapped around the chalice faded, and the carvings stilled, a sign that its power had run out.

  That was the best thing about the Restorative Chalice. It could always be used again.

  I tucked it away and turned toward my final destination.

  ***

  Permadeath was what drove most players away from Dreadspire.

  No respawns. No second chances.

  At least, not until I discovered the one thing that could cheat death itself, the Mother Willow’s Tear.

  It was hidden deep near the road to the Sanctum of Trials, concealed behind a dense wall of illusionary trees. Finding it had shaped one of my habits, always brushing against walls, searching for what wasn’t meant to be found.

  And just like everything else…

  It was here.

  I stepped into the secret grove where willow trees stood in eerie stillness, their drooping leaves hiding their trunks completely.

  “Twelve… thirteen… fourteen…” I counted my steps quietly.

  Of course, my stride length wasn’t the same as in the game, but hey, what choice did I have?

  At the twenty-second step, I turned and pushed aside a curtain of leaves.

  There.

  A small mound of earth.

  I knelt and dug with my hands until my fingers struck wood. A small box emerged, etched with green and gold carvings.

  Inside lay a vial of silvery liquid.

  “Finally.” A grin spread across my face. “Time to rest.”

  I reburied the box, erased my tracks, and turned to leave.

  I was almost out of the place when someone blocked my way.

  “Well now,” the voice came, smooth and calm, with an edge of amusement. “A little late for a baby like you to be sneaking around, isn’t it?”

  I froze.

  “Way past curfew,” he added, taking a step forward, eyes glinting. “And far from where little ones belong.”

  The light caught his antlers, intricate and massive, tangled with vines. In his hand, he held a gnarled staff, the wood as ancient as his face. Time had carved deep lines into his features, but his eyes… those piercing blue eyes, cold as winter’s breath, locked onto mine.

  The Shaman.

  “Ah,” I said, forcing out a nervous laugh. “Thank goodness. I need help.”

  He didn’t respond at first. His gaze roamed the grove, distant and focused. “Fascinating creatures, aren’t they? The elk sheds its antlers to grow stronger, and the stag waits, biding its time, until it can reveal itself safely.”

  He took another step.

  “But the most fascinating of all,” he murmured, almost to himself, "is the bird that pretends to be harmless... and fools the host into accepting what was never theirs to begin with."

  His gaze snapped back to mine, sharp as daggers.

  I swallowed hard. "Interesting," I said carefully. "I hope I get to see those creatures someday. Uh… I need to go?”

  “What brings you here, little bird?” His voice, though still soft, had a dangerous edge now.

  “I—uh, I got lost,” I stammered, hoping my tone would sound convincing.

  Cold sweat trickled down my palms. My mind raced. Every word felt like stepping on thin ice.

  “They say only a fool repeats the same mistake, expecting a different result,” he said, voice low, cutting through the air like a knife. “Ah, youth. I miss those days.”

  I swallowed. “Even the hardest rock will eventually yield to a drop of water that never stops falling.”

  He chuckled softly. “Assuming the rock just sits there, doing nothing.”

  “Isn’t that what rocks do?”

  “Not all rocks,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Have you heard of the Stone of Seasons?”

  My blood ran cold.

  How did he—?

  No. It must have been a coincidence.

  I forced a shrug. “Never heard of it.”

  “Curious,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes.

  “I should probably go now, I—”

  “Not so fast, little bird.” His voice deepened, smooth and dangerous. “Last chance. What were you doing here?”

  “I told you, I got lost.” My voice cracked slightly, betraying my fear.

  The words had barely left my mouth when my body jerked off the ground, suspended in the air. An invisible weight pressed down on my chest, suffocating me.

  “I’m not a fool, little bird,” he said softly, his staff glowing faintly. “No more playing around.”

  “I—I can’t breathe…” I gasped, panic swelling in my chest.

  “You can end this anytime,” he whispered, his grip tightening with each breath I fought for. “Just tell me the truth.”

  “I don’t… understand what you mean,” I managed through gritted teeth.

  “The truth,” he said, tilting his head toward the sky, “is a beautiful thing.”

  “What… do you want?” I whispered, barely able to speak.

  He chuckled. “We’re the same, you and I, asking questions we already know the answers to.”

  The pressure around me grew unbearable. My ribs screamed.

  “I took something that isn’t mine,” I wheezed.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, lowering his staff. The crushing weight lifted. I crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

  “But before we go any further,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, “return what belongs to me.”

  Still trembling, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Mother Willow’s Tear, placing it carefully in his outstretched hand. He took it, studying the vial for a long moment before slipping it into his robes.

  “How did you know where to find it?” he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

  For a split second, I was tempted to tell him the truth: I came from another world and got trapped inside this one, a world identical to the game I used to master.

  But that would be suicide.

  “By accident,” I said. “I sensed its presence.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Sensed it? Buried, underground, in a place no one should find?” His voice was quiet, impressed, yet unsettling.

  “Maybe,” I said, my voice unsteady, “it shouldn’t have been buried so shallow.”

  He paused, amused. “Like the Stone of Seasons?”

  My spine went rigid.

  “You mean that colorful rock near the waterfall?” I asked, feigning confusion.

  “Mmm. Answering a question with a question,” he mused.

  “I can’t tell if your words are lies,” he said, half to himself, “but I also have no reason to believe they aren’t.” He tilted his head back, gazing at the moonlit sky as if consulting the stars for an answer.

  I kept silent. Sometimes, silence was the best defense.

  An awkward stillness settled between us.

  I cleared my throat, desperate for any way out. “It’s late. I have class in the morning. I should—”

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to leave.” His voice was soft but final.

  My blood went cold.

  Fucking old bastard.

  Next Chapter to find out!