The flames crackle low. Just enough light to see faces… not enough to feel safe.
You lean in.
And the storyteller begins.
“They say… rulers fear nothing.”
A pause.
A slow glance into the trees.
“But that’s only because they’ve never been somewhere… that doesn’t recognize them.”
The fire pops. Sparks rise… then vanish into the black above.
“There was a ruler once. Proud. Powerful. The kind who thought the world bent just by him breathing.”
“He got tired of hearing whispers—about a forest. A place where even soldiers refused to go after dark.”
“So he laughed.”
Soft. Quiet. Wrong.
“And he went alone.”
4
“He set up camp just like you might. Fire. Tent. A place to sit.”
“At first… everything was normal.”
“Too normal.”
The storyteller leans closer.
“No wind. No animals. Not even insects.”
“Like the forest was holding its breath.”
Then…
A whisper.
“…ruler…”
“He stood up fast—just like you would.”
“Hand on his sword. Voice loud. Demanding.”
“‘Show yourself!’ he said.”
The storyteller smiles faintly.
“But nothing in that forest… answers to voices like that.”
“The fire dimmed.”
“Not slowly.”
“All at once.”
“As if something… covered it.”
4
“And then he heard it again.”
Closer now.
“…you rule… where light reaches…”
A long pause.
The fire cracks loudly.
“…but here…”
The storyteller’s voice drops to a whisper.
“…you are only meat.”
Someone shifts uncomfortably.
The forest around you suddenly feels… louder.
“They say he tried to fight.”
“Of course he did. That’s what rulers do.”
“He swung his sword…”
“…but it passed through nothing.”
“And then…”
The storyteller slowly lifts a hand…
“…something grabbed him.”
Not touching.
Not holding.
Just—
there.
All around him.
Inside the dark.
“He screamed.”
The storyteller looks directly at you now.
“Do you know the strange part?”
A beat.
“No one heard it.”
4
“In the morning…”
“His camp was still there.”
“His fire—cold.”
“His tent—untouched.”
“But the ruler…”
Gone.
The storyteller leans back… letting the silence stretch.
Then quietly adds:
“They only found one thing.”
“A crown.”
“Bent.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“And here’s the part they don’t tell in the stories…”
The fire flickers.
Just for a second.
Too low.
“They say… something in that forest still wears it.”
The storyteller glances past you.
Into the darkness behind your shoulder.
And frowns.
“…and it doesn’t like being watched.”
The fire cracks loudly.
Too loudly.
Like something stepped on a branch—
right behind you.