It was called the Dead Forest for a good reason. The lifeless and nearly limbless trees were bone white, making them stand out in stark contrast to the black sand and obsidian rock piles that littered the landscape. There was a constant icy wind that sapped the life from everything.

The last sign of life he had seen was a little clump of moss at the base of a tree when he entered the forest. There were no birds or animals. There weren’t even insects on the ground.

Geran had been walking for three days in the desolation and was a heartbeat away from collapsing from exhaustion. He was hallucinating badly, seeing long dead family members off in the distance, only to fade away as he approached.

Without warning, he was knocked to his knees by a strong gust of wind. It formed a small whirlwind in front of him as a ghostly mist seeped from the sand, swirled and coalesced into a vaguely human form. “Who are you?” It wasn’t so much a voice that he heard but a presence he felt in his bones. “Why have you come here?”