The path glowed under a strange, dreamy light. Everything was blue, plants, leaves, even the twisting vines, like the whole forest had been dipped in some glowing cerulean dye. The air itself seemed to hum with their light.

  Above, the trees were so thick they almost blocked out the sky, leaving only tiny cracks where that eerie blue shine slipped through.

  Giant, ancient trees towered around him, their roots twisting into the ground like old snakes, their branches forming a living roof. The place felt old. Older than anything.

  And there he was, a boy, just walking through it like he belonged. His hair was a deep, unnatural blue, his eyes a sharp gray.

  He had no weapons, no armor, just a quiet confidence, like the wild itself had carved him out of its own bones.

  The forest moved with him. The light leaned his way. This place recognized him.

  Then, the trees opened up. In front of him stood the biggest damn tree he'd ever seen, pulsing with raw energy, its trunk vibrating with power.

  Its leaves burned a blue so bright it hurt to look at, so thick they turned the whole sky into a swirling ocean of light. The air felt heavy. Sacred.

  Without a word, he dropped to his knees. His hands shifted into a prayer pose, left palm flat and facing up, right palm turned outward. A silent call. A connection.

  For a second, everything froze. Even the light hung still, like the world was holding its breath.

  A second later, energy rushed into him, weird but warm, like the tree was giving him a power boost. It filled him up, not in a scary way, but like a friend steadying.

  His expression stayed calm, unshaken, as the energy poured into him. He didn't resist, just let it fill every part of his body like water soaking into dry earth.

  This guy's name was Zhiua Kelp, just some dude living a normal life. At least, that's what he thought.

  "Hey, kid."

  The voice came out of nowhere. Behind him stood a black-haired guy with piercing red eyes.

  Zhiua didn't even glance back. He stayed kneeling, hands still in prayer, completely unfazed. No words, no reaction, just absolute calm.

  Whoever this was, they weren't worth his attention.

  "Your sister wanted to give you something."

  The stranger didn't move - no impatient shift in posture, no sign he'd leave without a response.

  A beat passed. Then another. Finally, Zhiua's hands fell from their prayer position. He rose smoothly, turning to face the red-eyed man at last.

  "What is it?" Zhiua asked, his voice steady as he faced the stranger.

  The black-haired man stepped forward, revealing a small folded note between his fingers. He extended it without a word.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Zhiua took the paper, his thumb brushing against the creased edges. "Did you read what's inside?"

  "I didn't." The response came flat, no hint of deception.

  With careful fingers, Zhiua unfolded the note. One glance at the handwriting, those familiar, looping letters, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. It was hers. That was enough.

  The note contained only a few jagged lines,

  'I hate you! You're the most horrible brother I could have ever wanted! Die! Die! Die!'

  Each word hit like a physical blow. His pulse roared in his ears.

  What was the point of this? None of it made sense. His sister would never.

  His head snapped up, face bloodless. The stranger hadn't moved. Not a twitch. Not a breath. Just those unnatural red eyes staring, waiting.

  Zhiua stared at the note again - and froze.

  Something was wrong.

  The writing smelled faintly metallic. Blood. And the letters themselves weren't ink, but a deep, dried red that made his stomach turn.

  His grip tightened involuntarily, the paper crinkling in his fist. His face lost all color, breath coming short.

  What does this mean?

  The words screamed at him from the page, but the real message was in what wasn't said - in the crimson stains forming each cruel sentence.

  Zhiua's gaze snapped up to the stranger.

  "What does this mean?"

  The red-eyed man smirked. That same iron scent, blood, unmistakable now—clung to him like a second skin. His posture was relaxed, but every muscle seemed coiled. A predator's patience.

  Zhiua's hands trembled. He forced his voice steady, even as his vision blurred. "What the hell did you do to my sister?"

  Tears burned, but he refused to let them fall. Not here.

  "Isn't it obvious?" The stranger's laugh slithered through the air, sharp and mocking.

  Zhiua barely had time to react—Poof.

  A burst of dark smoke erupted where the man stood. By the time it cleared, he was gone. Vanished. Only that cruel laughter lingered, echoing in the empty space between the ancient trees.

  A sickening crack split the air, his right shoulder screamed in protest. The pain snapped him back to reality.

  He didn't hesitate. Feet pounding against the glowing blue path, he whirled and sprinted in the opposite direction.

  Branches whipped at his arms, that unnatural cerulean light streaking past in blurred ribbons.

  His lungs burned. His shoulder throbbed. He didn't stop.

  A lone figure flashed in his periphery, a black-haired girl standing motionless beside the path.

  Their eyes met for half a breath. Something in her gaze prickled the back of his neck.

  Zhiua didn't stop running until he hit his front door. He barged inside, chest heaving, and scanned the room. The house was empty. Too empty.

  Zhiua's eyes darted across the living room - there was no blood, no broken furniture, no signs of a struggle.

  Nothing out of place except the crushing absence where his sister should be. His heartbeat hammered in his ears.

  He checked the kitchen, empty. Her

  bedroom, same. Everything looked normal, but that just made it worse. Where the hell was she?

  He checked the house again. Not one speck of dust. Sofa cushions perfectly fluffed. Her favorite mug sitting clean in the rack. Everything in place - that was the problem.

  His sister was always around, always leaving traces - a book left open, clothes tossed on the chair, at least one dirty plate in the sink.

  CRACK.

  His right shoulder popped again - that same sick sound.

  "The hell...?" He grabbed at it, fingers digging into muscle like he could physically stop whatever was happening. The pain came sharp and fast, then faded just as quick.