History did not begin with the clash of swords or the coronation of kings.

It began with a man in his forties.

Unmarried.

Restless.

Untamed.

He bore no crown, commanded no army, followed no map leading to glory.

What he carried was far rarer; a soul that refused to sit still.

With quiet steps and eyes brimming with curiosity, he wandered across the corners of the world.., collecting stories, relics, and forgotten truths. Everything he touched, he documented. Every object, every whisper of legend.., his journal thickened with the weight of wonder.

His friends, experts in science, archaeology, and history, waited eagerly for his returns. They studied what he found in their labs and lecture halls. Some examined ancient minerals under microscopes; others decoded symbols from lost languages. For him, every discovery was a verse in the poem of existence.

He didn’t travel light.

Alongside his notebooks and pens, he wore three cameras; one strapped to his forehead, another at his chest, and one behind his head, capturing the world from every angle, like a living archive. In his weathered backpack: a foldable dagger reminiscent of old assassin tales, a pistol tucked neatly for emergencies, sketchbooks, dry rations, medical kits, and his most treasured possession; a vintage Polaroid camera that froze time into tangible memory.

Two days before this story truly begins, he arrived on Mages Valley Island, nestled within Lioraen country, a place veiled in mist, where the wind whispered forgotten legends through the forest canopy. The island holds hundreds to thousands of history, culture and legends. But he got zero interest in other things on this island except the mystery of the abandoned forest! He heard of it from a foreign friend of his in his previous travels in Melisie, a neighbouring country of Lioraen. His visit here only stands by one reason, to uncover the truth behind it! His untamed souls gave him a high devotion to dig out the mystery for once or never!

For two days, he wandered the village’s edge, speaking with elders and curious children. He asked about the forest, a place untouched for generations. The villagers had a name for it:

“The Veil of the Forgotten.”

No one had entered it since the days of their great grandparents’ youth. It's been almost a century. One day, without explanation, the people who lived there abandoned it completely. No screams. No conflict. Just silence and the pull of the sea. They relocated and rebuilt their lives along the coastline and never looked back.

But this man... he was built from questions.

And the unknown?

To him, it wasn’t a warning.

It was an invitation.

On the third morning, before sunlight kissed the horizon, while the village still slumbered under the breath of the sea breeze, he packed his belongings and set off, on foot, toward the forest. Sixty-five kilometers of steady steps. Time blurred. By the time dusk returned and the moon quietly claimed the sky, he arrived at its edge.

There it stood the threshold of the forgotten.

The forest loomed like an ancient sentinel, its trees towering, its vines coiled like forgotten verses. The air was damp, heavy with stories untold. Something inside him stirred, a primal sense that only awakens when danger is close.

He hesitated.

Night in the forest is unlike the night in cities or farms.

It watches.

It remembers.

He stood still for a long time, listening.

Then, with a heavy sense of wisdom, he turned away. He returned to the village and rented a modest room at the nearest homestay. Dropping his bag onto the mattress, he fell back, exhausted, and was pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sleep well, wanderer,

for the forest is waiting.

At exactly 4:00 a.m., his sacred hour, he awoke. Stars faded behind the hush of dawn. He washed, geared up, and laced his boots like armor. His cameras flickered to life. With a piece of bread between his teeth, he stepped out into the chill.

This time, he didn’t turn back.

This time, he entered the forest.

This time, he stepped into the story.

———✯｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+—————

Inside the Veil of the Forgotten

The forest was alive. And ancient.

The trees rose like timeless towers, some so massive it would take five men, hand in hand, to circle one. Vines hung like forgotten prayers, tangled and delicate, while the undergrowth clawed at his legs with every step. The canopy above swayed in slow motion, weaving a roof of ever-shifting green. Though he stood 185 cm tall, he felt utterly devoured by the scale of this ancient realm.

The villagers' words echoed in his memory:

“One day, everyone living in the forest simply left... and built a new life by the sea.”

“No one said why. No secrets were passed down. Just silence.”

“The island may look large on maps, but in our hearts, it's grown small. There are fewer than 200 of us now. Back then, maybe 50 lived deep in the woods.”

If wild animals had driven them away, it might have made sense.

But three hours into his journey, not a single living creature revealed itself. No ants. No birds. No worms. Not even the faint buzz of a mosquito.

The forest bloomed with green vitality, but not a breath stirred.

He was a man fueled by curiosity, not fantasy. His was a logical mind. He only believed in what he could see, and every mystery had to obey the rules of reason. Perhaps that was why his books always sold out, they delivered the truth, backed by proof, no matter how small.

Other wanderers might hear whispers in the wind or imagine shadowy figures slipping between trees. But not him. He wasn’t built for illusion. He was built for facts.

He paused often, capturing images of peculiar trees with his Polaroid camera. Each photo was tucked into a waterproof sleeve. The only sound was the wind sighing through the leaves, soft, endless.

There was no sign of danger. And yet, the silence roared louder than any beast.

Maybe the threat wasn’t behind him. Maybe it waited ahead.

He marked his path with strips of old plastic tied to the trunks, he brought them with him before entering the forest. They would guide him home. If he ever chose to return.

Then, as he descended a damp slope, he saw it:

A cave.

Its mouth yawned wide like it had been waiting for him. Strangely, no vegetation surrounded it for nearly a hundred steps. Just bare earth, smooth and reverent, as if nature itself had stepped aside.

He stopped at its edge. Checked his cameras. Inhaled deeply.

And stepped into the dark, unaware that something ancient had been waiting for his arrival since long before he was born.

Inside the Cave

It was dark, wet, and whispering.

He flicked on his camping lamp, casting beams along the slick stone walls. The faintest sounds became amplified: water dripping, echoes bouncing, a single footstep stretching into forever.

Droplets pooled into a small, glistening lake at the cave’s center. And though he was logical, he felt oddly relieved to see spiders weaving webs, bats fluttering overhead, and yes, even the hum of mosquitoes. Their existence felt grounding, a reminder that life still pulsed here.

The deeper he walked, the heavier the dark became. Light was a memory.

Then, near a bend in the cave’s straight path, he froze.

Bones. Dozens of them.

He lowered his Polaroid camera for a closer look. A human skull stared back. He raised his torch from the cave floor and discovered a graveyard: skeletal remains, ancient necklaces, pirate swords rusted by time. He pieced it together quickly, a band of pirates, long dead on some doomed mission.

He snapped photos, gently collected a few samples, a bone fragment, a locket, and sealed them in plastic. He couldn't wait to send all his collections to his mad scientist friends that work in various fields of science. All more thrilled to get the results from it.

As he worked, something stirred deep in the cave, like a whisper brushing against his spine.

His pulse quickened. Not from fear. From wonder.

Whatever was calling, he had to see it.

He walked on. The path twisted in zigzags, never splitting but always bending. And then—

Light.

A golden glow flooded the tunnel ahead. He emerged onto a stone ledge overlooking a chamber bathed in sunlight from a natural skylight far above. It looked like something out of a film, a secret pirate haven carved into the earth.

The chamber walls were draped in lush, living vines. Not a single leaf had withered, not a branch dulled by age. It formed a near-perfect circle.

Sculptures lined the stone, too precise to be nature’s work. In the center, a man-made pool shimmered, its water clear as crystal. Stone staircases spiraled down from where he stood, meeting at the bottom in a wide, sacred space.

He descended.

The pool was vast, large enough to hold a hundred men shoulder to shoulder. Yet it didn’t feel sacred like a temple. It felt… indulgent. Perhaps a bathing haven for noblewomen long ago.

Circling the pool, he examined every carving with care. Three caught his eye:

• A headless rabbit-like creature

• A half-face: mouth, nose, and one glaring eye

• A statue, only hands holding an enormous sword

Thorns barred his path, sharp and strange, some straight, others hooked like fishing spears. He couldn’t cut through them. Nothing could. They were firmly attached to the wall. And so he started to plan for the future ahead, he'll come again with his friends to uncover all craves on these walls.

The strange aura struck again, crawling up his spine, brushing the back of his neck.

He turned around.

Nothing.

Maybe it's only wind brushed over him as there's quite a big hole on the rooftop.

Facing the sword sculpture once more, he placed a hand on the inscription that craved the blade. His hand hovered. He shouldn’t touch it. Every rule of exploration screamed 'No.' But curiosity was louder.

The language was ancient, but familiar. He had studied both dialects from Sajuvo’s distant past.

He spoke the words aloud:

“Death is the only way to protect you. -Ra Sue.”

Ssskkk~

A sudden shuffle. He spun around. And looked for anything that could be the source of the sound. If it's a wild animal,.. hope not. He didn't have any self defense, only knows how to use the gun that he brought together.

His eyes then caught a jewelry box sat beside the pool’s edge.

It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe he didn't notice it before since he was too focused on the walls rather than the pool. Well, there's nothing to take a deep look at the pool because it's only contained with clear water and it's height is quite deep for an adult.

The box shimmered as if freshly forged, shaped like a mouse’s head. Its sides were etched with scenes of nature: sunrise and sunset, forest and sea, predator and prey, mankind hunting animals.

His curiosity itched.

He knew the rules. But curiosity won. He opened it anyway.

Inside: a tiny scroll, barely larger than his pinky, and a vial of clear liquid.

He sat on the ground, heart racing, and unrolled the scroll. The large text was in the older dialect. The smaller one came from the era just after.

Big writing:

-Do you want to rule a new era?

Small writing:

-Throw me into the lake and swim through the hole after counting down from thirty.

He stared. Silent.

It was too perfect, too intact. Not a prank. Not accidental. Because the letter is made from an animal's skin and too ancient by its colour and so, even the grammar is correct and the writing is so good that it only has been the fluent language itself. Plus, the box itself bore an ancient style and markings.

Out of curiosity even when he felt unreal, he looked at the pool and searched for something. Then he noticed it, a hole carved into the side of the pool. It hadn’t registered before, hidden beneath the perfect clarity of the water.

Could there be a passage?

But the whole idea was absurd. Swimming into a glowing, untouched pond guided by an ancient scroll? The idea itself is ridiculous.

The jewellery box came out of nowhere and the mysterious scroll. Even the liquid is more mysterious, might be more dangerous too. What if by only smelling it, it could bring harm to the mind or body?

He let out a breathless laugh, low and tired.

“Ah... I only had lunch yesterday. And just a piece of bread and two gulps of water this morning...”

He slumped, his limbs growing heavy.

His body never needed much to function, a little protein, a bit of fruit. But this... this had pushed him too far.

He took a look at his watch, it's 5.27 p.m.

“I guess this is where today’s journey ends. Let the mad scientists sort out the rest. Hahaha—”

His laughter faded—thin, brittle, stripped by hunger. He gathered his treasures, adjusted his gear, and began the slow, reluctant climb out of that sacred hollow.

Fshhh~

A breeze swept in from his left, strong enough to nearly topple him. He was too weak now—even the wind could unmake him. It smelled of salt. Like the sea. He figured the sea must be nearby. After all, this was an island.

“...Ah.”

His eyes followed the scroll as it slipped from his hand.

It fluttered in the breeze and came to rest on the still water, floating motionlessly.

He sighed. The ink would be ruined. He couldn’t bring it back to his friends.

One more treasure lost.

He turned away.

So be it, he thought. Let the treasure remain untouched.

And with that, he turned, walking back into the cave’s waiting shadows.

... Wait! Am I doing it right?

He stood still and thought for a moment. He rubbed his head hard, a sign of rising frustration. He did think to let it pass by quickly, but it might hold thousands of truths to uncover!

Driven by the wildest edge of curiosity, he turned back and crouched at the pool’s edge. Luckily the letter is still floating on the water nearby the edge of the pool. He reached his hand to get the letter. Even if it cost him a small sacrifice, perhaps his hand.