Chapter 227 Labyrinth Forest (2)
They continued walking, enveloped by towering walls of trees that loomed like ancient giants, seemingly blocking their path. But then, a strange shift began to stir in the air.
The forest landscape felt like a relentless cycle, repeating itself with an eerie precision. The conversation seemed to echo this monotony as well. Rinoa became painfully aware that she had repeated the same sentence three times, each delivery echoing with the same, hollow tone. Fitran's mannerisms mirrored her own—a subtle turn of his head, the rhythm of his footsteps, and even the play of shadows across his cheek—all felt like an unconscious rerun. A fine mist slithered through the gaps between the trees, lending the atmosphere an air of fragility, as though the world around them was a delicate dream teetering on the brink of obliteration.
"We're... trapped in a loop of thought," Rinoa whispered, her voice a fragile murmur struggling to break free from the weighty, damp air.
"It's not our thoughts," Fitran replied, his voice heavy with despair. "But the thoughts of this forest."
Suddenly, all sound fell silent. The gentle patter of raindrops ceased; only an oppressive darkness loomed, pressing down upon them. There was no wind, no footsteps—no existence. The world felt as if it had halted completely, as if they had been erased from the universe's very consciousness. The rhythm of their heartbeats faded into the void, leaving nothing but the echo of the stifling darkness. What remained was but one thing:
The sound of one's own thoughts.
However, that voice no longer felt like her own. It surged through her like a swift, relentless current, ensnaring Rinoa's thoughts in an unstoppable torrent. She heard herself uttering, "If Fitran dies, I will erase everything else. Everything."
Yet the words did not emerge from her lips; each phrase felt ephemeral, like smoke dissipating before it could touch the realm of reality. They merely grazed the surface of the dread coiling deep within her soul.
Fitran caught a whisper, "You know you don't deserve to live after what you did to Iris." The stillness of the forest amplified the weight of those words, as though the ancient trees bore witness to an inner confrontation that had erupted into a tumultuous cacophony within their minds.
He turned to face Rinoa, yet the figure beside him gazed with empty eyes, as if the vibrant spirit that once resided within her had been extinguished. Slowly, she smiled—a wide, unsettling smile he had never encountered before—like a full moon emerging from the cloak of a starless night, both soothing in its beauty and terrifying in its implications. Rinoa's existence felt like a haunting mirage, ensnared in the shadows cast by trees that had endured for millennia, while her spirit seemed despondent, burdened by a profound emptiness that echoed through the very air.
"I know," said the imitation of Rinoa, her voice high-pitched and dissonant, as if summoned from the darkest recesses of the forest. "You desire destruction. Even I cannot stop you," her breath appeared to be drawn from the abyss, creating a sound reminiscent of the chilling nocturnal wind that bites at the skin, sending shivers through the heart of the night.