When the time came for someone to enter the Forest, the Hero was not sent unprepared.
For many days they sat beneath the vaulted ceiling of the King's Hall, where the wisest minds of the kingdom had gathered long before dawn.
Some were cartographers, whose lives had been devoted to drawing every path ever remembered.
Others were natural philosophers who studied the changing seasons.
One by one, they laid their understanding before the Hero. A map was unrolled. Then another. Then another.
One showed the quickest path. Another, the safest.
Every map had been carefully made.
Every line had been honestly drawn.
Every mark represented someone's best understanding of the Forest.
The Hero listened with great care.
For each counselor spoke with the quiet confidence of one who had earned the right to do so.
"The Beast is clever," murmured an elderly counsel whose hands trembled with age. "Do not chase it. Let it reveal itself."
Another smiled politely.
"The Beast has never revealed itself."
A few chuckled.
The Hero did not notice the contradiction.
There were too many truths to hold at once.
Instead, they wrote every word into a leather-bound journal, determined to forget nothing.
By the end of the week, the journal had become heavy.
So had the Hero's satchel. Maps. Notes. Sketches. Warnings. Strategies.
"You now carry generations of knowledge."
Another placed a hand upon the Hero's shoulder.
"You are ready."
The Hero believed them.
They did not know it then
but no map had ever once described what it felt like to stand beneath those trees.
The Forest did not begin all at once.
It announced itself gradually.
First came the coolness of the air.
Then the scent of damp earth, rich and old, as though the ground had been keeping secrets for centuries.
The sunlight grew softer beneath the branches, breaking into countless ribbons that danced whenever the wind remembered them.
At first, the journey was everything the counselors had promised. Each familiar landmark filled the Hero with quiet relief.
The maps were right and every correct turn strengthened their confidence.
Perhaps, the Hero thought, wisdom was simply a matter of listening well enough to those who had come before.
Then the birds stopped singing,
and the forest became aware of its own silence.
And the maps, all made from the brightest of counsel, made no sense.
The Hero is lost.