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As a child, this forest was perceived as just a terrible fairy tale told at bedtime by an old teacher. And how could it be otherwise? When you lie under a warm blanket in such a familiar, comfortable room and you know that you are safe. It becomes completely unimportant that the cursed forest actually exists. He's too far away to worry about the living dead, werewolves roaming among the monstrous red-leafed trees. The border is inviolable, monsters cannot cross it. And still, an obsessive thought beats in the mind that this fairy tale is not fiction. Especially when the teacher draws attention to the fact that it does not and cannot have a happy ending.

Perhaps the teacher exaggerated too much to give the story of the forest of the dead a really fabulous sound, or maybe on the contrary, he downplayed the truth so as not to frighten his ward too much. The only thing that remained unchanged was that he heard this fairy tale every evening, it was repeated every day - like a spell, but he did not ask - why? There were questions that Giton refused to answer. All that was left was to take it for granted. He simply peered into the icy-cold, almost colorless eyes of the old teacher, in which the abyss of centuries seemed to be hidden, and silently listened.

“There is no life in this forest, but it wasn’t always like that. Once upon a time, in its place there was a huge kingdom, beautiful cities, luxurious gardens and fields rich in crops ... But its inhabitants decided that their life should not be the same as everyone else. They were all very strong magicians, with abilities developed from birth. They considered themselves special, believed that they deserved more, they wanted to command the elements that were not subject to people and crossed the Line ... They made a mistake - they reproduced a very ancient ritual that belonged far from nonhumans. The forest remembers everything, a wave of out-of-control magical energy left the kingdom under its roots, houses were leveled to the ground, palaces turned into ruins, gardens went wild, and trees stood in the fields.

Centuries have passed since then, but the inhabitants of that ancient kingdom do not lie in their graves among the ruins of their homes, they do not care that their time has long expired. Their lives were left behind the Boundary, which people were not entitled to cross, and now they are part of Reeta, part of the forest of the damned! .. - the voice of the old man flows smoothly and singsongly, he always says this when he starts talking, it is easy to listen to him.

This voice lulls, brings sleep. But if you fall asleep now, do not listen to the end of the story already learned by heart, then in a dream you will definitely run through the forest, and crooked branches with sharp branches will hit your face and cling to your clothes, and wet leaves will smack your body with a champ. But this run will not last long, behind your back, and then rustling steps will clearly sound from all sides, and then they will knock you down with a blow, press you to the hard ground with an unbearable weight and dig into your body with fangs ...

…Dream. Why did Giton tell about Reeta before going to bed, always before going to bed?.. As a boy, he never got an answer to this question, and then the opportunity to ask disappeared.

Where are you Giton, old sorcerer, old friend? Why didn't the cursed forest remain just a dream? Not remained a fairy tale told in childhood? Why did the nightmare become a reality?

A prickly cold still ran through the body, the skin continued to keep this instant and at the same time very long feeling of overcoming something inevitable and eternal, when the air became viscous and viscous, as if it did not want to let it pass further. One moment and the usual living forest was behind. A strange rumble rushed through my head, perceived far from only by ears, and if you strain your imagination, you could discern the words in it: "-Farewell, man."

A lone rider on a black horse sharply pulled the reins and exhaled convulsively, trying to fully comprehend what had happened. There was no fear in the bright gray eyes yet, only surprise, turning into an understanding of that terrible reality, which in an instant replaced the intense pursuit.

Border! The horseman turned around in despair, there is no longer a border, he crossed it! The frantic thought that this was all the end and there was nowhere else to run did not want to fit in my head. His gaze darted along the tree trunks, marking the line that divided the two forests - the living and the dead. An almost visible line, and if it weren’t for the arrows knocking very close to the bark, if it weren’t for the frantic pace of the jumps and the branches whipping in the face, he would have noticed that there was a completely different forest ahead. If…. Reeta does not hide, she openly shows her essence. But when one forest passes into another, there is not a clearing and no signs of the Border - just a thicket of living trees breaks off, and the black trunks of another forest begin.

Figures of riders flashed between the green foliage. People in a hurry pulled the reins, betraying by their actions that, unlike him, they knew about the Frontier. Laughter reached the ears, the pursuers held bows in their hands, but were in no hurry to shoot.

– Wow, and our game fell into the clutches of other hunters!

"I've never seen the undead having lunch."

- Let's see. Hey, Prince Yaroslav, it's been a long time since the creatures of Reeta had such an appetizer. Ha ha ha...

He shuddered, they know his name, so he is not an accidental victim. But one can only guess about the identity of the customer, but now no assumptions came to mind. It's only been one day since he returned to his home kingdom, and he still hasn't clarified the situation. Only the pursuers are mistaken, he is not a prince, his father stripped him of his title, and for five years no one has called him that. Even instead of a name, he left himself a childhood nickname - Yarsi, that was his mother's name, in memory of her ....

Memory is probably the only thing that still had the right to exist in his case. His world had already once collapsed, broken into thousands of unimaginable fragments, each of which lurked pain, and now it happened again. For real, not like the last time he didn't die for some reason. Right now, in the almost silent silence of the forest, his future was disappearing. Forests from a dream ....

The trees were almost as he imagined them - black, massive trunks, from which branches stretched like gnarled, but flexible, moving snakes, dotted with many red leaves. Under the hooves of the horse, the earth, too hard, like stone, pounded with a booming sound. The dusk of the approaching night lay in thick shadows between the trees, impenetrable spots of blackness glided through the web of intertwining branches, reminding us that here is a completely different world - not belonging to the light. Not belonging to life! A world that you can't escape from. Can't return. Do not cross the border back.

People on the other side of the invisible line smiled mockingly. Soaring after a long ride, the horses, despite being tired, nervously trembled and tried to break into a run. The riders pulled hard on the reins, forcing them to stay in place. Animals always perceive the Boundary more sharply. But his own horse did not have time to stop, the chase in an unfamiliar forest was too long and exhausting.

Yarsi suddenly realized that he had almost stopped hearing his pursuers. The voices seemed to fly over a great distance, and sometimes they were only fragments of phrases, almost incoherent. The air became more and more empty, the sounds died away, remaining in the world of people, as if afraid to go beyond. But he clearly saw their mocking faces, their eyes burning in anticipation of an unprecedented spectacle.

Yes, it is impossible to cross back the line separating the two worlds - the living and the dead. Reeta does not release her victims, just as she does not release her inhabitants. There are no living people here, no food, and any random guest becomes such a rare and long-awaited prey. From the same children's fairy tale, he knew that hunger is their curse, their punishment in eternity ...

And now their prey is you, you will be torn to pieces and eaten, and this is worse than dying from a well-aimed shot of an archer .... It is useless to ask - why is this happening to you? It is useless to try to fix something, this is not a dream, the reality is worse.

His gaze darted over the faces of the hunters—special game hunters, the last people he would ever see in his life. He wasn't going to say anything. And what can you say to your own unaccomplished executioners? Ask for what, why? They won't answer him. The mercenary code forbids answering the victim's questions. This will only cause more laughter. And behind him, more and more emptiness was felt - cold, frighteningly lifeless, inevitable and impossibly palpable ...

A bitter smile touched his lips, it is strange to die and not know the reason why they declared a hunt for you. He was the youngest in the family and never claimed the title. His father taught the art of war to his two older brothers, they were warriors, his heirs, and he remained his mother's favorite, her son, whom she did not want to let go of herself.

Yes, he also received an excellent education, but his days were not spent in sword training, but in reading books and listening to the stories of old Giton, his teacher. The age difference with his older brothers was almost ten years, and his father never paid attention to him. He remained too small for him, a boy, a helpless child.

Death has a strange choice, not everyone is as lucky as he is. Yarsi slowly drew his sword from its scabbard. The fingers tightened tightly on the hilt and even through the glove felt its slightly tingling cold, as if the energy of the weapon had flowed into the hand. The body was performing the usual actions, and some kind of distant thought was beating in my head - his time had already stopped, frozen for those last moments that you can still hear the heartbeats in your chest, too loudly tapping a panic-fast rhythm.

The rays of the setting sun, barely breaking through the tangled branches of the trees, played brightly on the icy edges of the blade. Viola's parting gift. The sword of a mage, not a warrior, adorned with intricate rune patterns, a silver sword. She never reconciled herself to the idea that he chose a different path and did not become her student, and shook her head to the end, even when he began to defeat the best warriors of the tribe. Your strength lies elsewhere...

“And the puppy has teeth,” one of the pursuers whistled.

The guy saluted them with his sword, and jerked the reins of his horse, turning him deep into the forest. The entertainment is cancelled, it doesn't need spectators.

The crow snorted unhappily and rushed into the thicket.