The sun was setting, casting its golden glow over the eerie, dark forest that surrounded the village. The air was heavy with the scent of decayed trees and the faint sound of rustling leaves. A small clearing lay hidden under a dense patch ofdense greenery, lined with fallen trees and old stone walls. The villagers had lived there for generations, their house, once a golden, imposingStructure, now a sleek, modern building with brick outlines and stone detailing.

But beneath the surface of this land was a dark secret: an ancient, hidden book that spoke of shadows and whispers that never told the truth. Its pages were written by a man who had died thousands of years ago, his final words still etched into the trees around him as he lay in the clearing at night.

The village wasn’t interested in what had happened to them, but when the villagers tried to leave without saying—without a chance—they knew they needed someone. They needed someone to stay behind, to protect the place they loved. That was until they met a man whose eyes had been shaped by time itself.

As the sun began to set, the first light of dawn broke through the misty veil that enclosed them all. The air was still thick with the scent of damp earth, but the villagers knew they were safe in their own skin. Their house was intact, its wooden floors lined with brick and stone. But within, something was missing—a hollowed-out hand.

The man stepped out of his shadow, his voice smooth and deliberate. “Who are you?” he asked, his tone steady. “Why are you here? Why the dark forest?”

The villagers nodded, their eyes wide with confusion. They had never seen anyone like him in their lifetime. His face was clean and composed, as though nothing could ever happen to him. He took a deep breath, then looked at them one by one.

“Who are they?” the man asked, his voice rising in a tone that made them all stand up. “Why are you here? Why did you come?”

The villagers laughed. They knew he was trying to provoke them out of their comfort zone. But as he spoke, something else snapped into place: their faces began to light up—no, not everyone’s. Only one.

A voice rose from among the trees, its words barely above a whisper. “Never Give Up.” It was simple, yet profound. The villagers stood still, silent for a moment before they nodded in unison. They all moved forward, taking their breath away. The man looked around, his hand brushing against the smooth rocks below.

His eyes burned with familiar light, and he smiled at them. The trees began to sway in a way that made them shiver under the weight of silence. “You’re not who you seem,” he said softly, moving closer to one of the fallen stones. “But I have something for you.”

The villagers laughed again, but this time it was different—vibrant and alive. They stepped closer, their breaths coming together in perfect rhythm as they traced the faint glow of light through the dark air. They found a small clearing in the dense forest, its edge outlined by golden leaves that had once been their home.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other with understanding eyes. The man took a step back, his hand reaching out to grasp one of the fallen stones. He looked around again, the trees swaying in his hands as they did before—exactly what he had seen before when he had died.

The villagers laughed again, this time in a way that made them want to scream but knew it was too late. They began to walk closer, their breaths coming together like rivers meeting. The man looked at them with the same grace he had looked at them for so long.

As they approached the clearing, the trees swayed further. But before the villagers could react, a hand caught one of their hands and held it in front of them. It was a deep, burning hole. The air around them filled with an unusual sense of fire, and the ground beneath them trembled as if it were being swallowed.

The man looked down at the man holding the finger, his face pale but focused on something he had known all his life. He said, “This is… your book.” And that was it. It wasn’t about losing anything or changing anyone’s story. It was simple—don’t stop giving up.

The villagers laughed as they realized what he meant. They had seen too much before, and this was the truth. But for them, it meant nothing more than a warning. A reminder of the strength of those around them—a reminder that even in death, there were people who could stand together to keep their place alive.

And then one by one, they started walking away again. They had found what they had always known was out there—just waiting for them to come.