Chapter 40. Tangled Forest
The deeper I ventured into the entangled wilderness, the more the forest seemed to close in around me.
My vision kept blurring—not from fatigue, but because of the sheer density of this place. What I’d seen from the outside hadn’t even come close to capturing the overwhelming thickness of the forest’s interior.
Branches overlapped like tangled spiderwebs. Towering trees, thick as castle pillars, stood like ancient sentinels, their bark slick with moss and age.
The sky above was completely blotted out by a canopy of leaves, each one easily the size of a grown adult.
The occasional sliver of light managed to pierce through, but it only served to cast eerie shadows and strange glows over the underbrush.
There was enough space to move, sure, but only barely.
Each step felt like wading through a maze of roots and crawling vines. The humidity was oppressive, clinging to my skin like a second layer. And the silence—save for the occasional rustle or chirp—was unnerving.
Clicking my tongue in mild frustration, I pressed forward.
The scent of damp earth filled my lungs. It was rich, ancient, and oddly soothing. If I didn’t know better, I might’ve actually enjoyed it.
Might’ve.
But this wasn’t some peaceful nature walk. I had no idea what might pop out of the ground or drop from the sky. And the last thing I wanted was to become the forest’s next fertilizer because I let my guard down.