The forest was no longer silent. It breathed.
Aerin felt it the moment she opened her eyes — the air trembled faintly, carrying a low hum that pulsed through the moss beneath her. Dew clung to her lashes like glass pearls. When she sat up, she realized her lantern had almost gone out. The flame within was pale and wavering, as if it were unsure whether to live or die.
The memory of her dream was still clinging to her mind like cobwebs.The girl in white had appeared again — but this time she was standing on a bridge. Her bare feet hovered just above the boards, her hair swaying like mist. She had been crying, and her tears fell as thin silver threads that melted into the planks. Before fading, she whispered only one thing:
"If you cross the bridge, don't look back."
When Aerin blinked awake, the words still echoed inside her chest like a warning carved into bone.
She rose slowly, clutching her cloak around her shoulders. The world had changed again. The forest no longer looked like the one she'd entered the day before. The trees were white — not with snow, but with bark so pale it seemed carved from marble. Their roots glowed faintly, and the air shimmered with motes of blue light drifting upward like fireflies that had forgotten the sky.
Every sound was distant, muted, yet alive. Even her footsteps sounded like whispers.
Aerin began to walk, following the faint sound of rushing water. Something inside her told her to keep moving. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the same strange pull that had guided her since she first entered the forest.
After some time — she no longer knew how long — the trees parted, revealing a deep ravine. A narrow wooden bridge stretched across it, frail and ancient. The ropes looked worn, and the boards glistened with moisture. The water below wasn't water at all — it shimmered black and gold, filled with fragments of light that looked like broken stars drifting in a current.
Aerin's breath caught in her throat.
This was the bridge from her dream.
Her pulse quickened as she stepped closer. The mist curled around her feet like hands trying to hold her back. She leaned forward slightly, peering down — and froze.
Her reflection looked back up at her, but the eyes weren't hers. They were silver, glowing faintly. The reflection smiled, even though her own lips hadn't moved.
Aerin stumbled backward. The lantern flickered violently.
"Don't be afraid," said a voice.
It came from the far end of the bridge — soft, neither male nor female, but echoing like a memory spoken by the forest itself.
A shape emerged from the fog: tall, cloaked in grey, its face hidden beneath a hood. The edges of its cloak seemed to dissolve into mist.
Aerin took a step back. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted its head. "A guide, perhaps. Or a warning." The voice was calm, distant. "You seek something that doesn't want to be found."
"I'm just trying to leave," Aerin said quietly. "I didn't ask for this."
The figure chuckled, and the sound was dry and hollow. "Everyone who comes here asked for something. The forest doesn't open its paths by accident."
Aerin frowned, clutching the lantern tighter. "You're wrong. I didn't make a wish."
"You did," the figure replied. "But you've forgotten it. The forest hasn't."
The words hit her like a pulse of cold air. Forgotten it?Aerin tried to remember — to reach back into her past — but all she saw was a faint image: her younger self standing beneath a tree, whispering something into the wind, eyes full of tears. The memory slipped away before she could grasp it.
"I want to go home," she whispered.
The hooded figure nodded slowly, as if amused. "Then cross the bridge."
The bridge creaked softly, stretching across the chasm like a line between two worlds. Aerin took a deep breath, the warning from her dream echoing again in her head. Don't look back.
She stepped onto the bridge.
At first, nothing happened. Then the boards beneath her began to vibrate — faintly at first, then stronger, as though the bridge itself were alive. The air filled with a thousand faint whispers. They rose from beneath her feet, from the mist below, from the reflection that followed her every movement.
Each voice carried her name — some said it lovingly, others with sorrow, some pleading, some angry.
Her pace slowed. The voices grew louder, overlapping.
"Aerin…""Don't leave…""Stay with us…""You promised…"
Her heart pounded. The air thickened with memories she didn't recognize — flashes of faces, laughter, a boy standing in the rain, a promise whispered at twilight. She didn't know if they were hers.
Then one voice cut through the rest — her own, but older. "If you turn back, you'll forget who you are."
She squeezed her eyes shut and kept walking.
The further she went, the more the bridge began to tremble. The mist below churned, glowing brighter, swirling with silver and gold light. The reflections beneath her showed hundreds of versions of herself — all walking, all hesitating, all turning back.
She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But she forced herself forward, one step at a time.
Finally, her foot hit solid ground. She gasped — and when she opened her eyes, the whispers stopped.
Silence.
The bridge was gone.
Behind her stretched nothing but mist, endless and opaque. The ravine had vanished as if it had never existed. The forest ahead was darker — the trees thicker, their leaves black and silver, their roots coiled like serpents. Blue flames floated between them, soft and ghostly.
The air smelled of wet earth and incense.
Aerin stood still, trembling slightly. The lantern in her hand flickered once — then burned brighter than before, white and steady.
Somewhere ahead, she heard faint music. It was soft, melancholic, carried by a breeze that felt almost human.
She took one step, then another. The mist parted for her, and as she disappeared into the dark forest, a whisper rose behind her — soft, fragile, and achingly familiar.
Her own voice."Don't forget why you came here."
Aerin didn't turn.She kept walking.