Jumanji returned to the village that had become a stage for absolute stillness. His gaze wandered in every direction—right and left, east and west—yet he saw nothing but a thick gray fog wrapping around the houses, like a shroud woven from the strange halos of death.

  That village which had once throbbed with life and laughter had now become barren ruins. Even the air itself felt heavy and cold, carrying the taste of ash.

  Jumanji stood before the closed door of his home. By an instinct that years of absence had not erased, he raised his trembling hand and knocked, just as he had always done.

  Knock… knock…

  He waited for a few seconds. Though he knew with certainty that the echo would be the only reply, his heart would not allow him to do otherwise.

  No answer came.

  He pushed the worn door open and stepped inside. Darkness welcomed him, along with the scent of ancient dust.

  In the past, the mere sound of those knocks would send his twin children racing with their loud laughter, throwing themselves into his arms. Those moments had once seemed to him the most precious treasures a man could possess.

  Now, he found nothing but a silence that tore at the soul, and empty corners devoid even of the faint echo of their former noise.

  The boy walked forward with heavy steps toward a wooden chair in the center of the hall. He sat down and leaned back, closing his dark eyes that had sunk deep into their sockets from the weight of emotional exhaustion.

  He wanted to sink into the depths of quiet, perhaps to find answers to his bitter questions.

  Why had he been left alone in this vast world?

  Who were those who dared to bury life in the veins of his village with that vile deed?

  What sin had two little buds committed—children who had not yet learned the difference between right and wrong—to face a death so dark?

  Jumanji was at the peak of his brokenness.

  His burning heart begged his eyes for a single tear to extinguish the fire gnawing inside him.

  But the tears refused to fall.

  It was as though his eyes had dried completely, just as they had in his old, decaying body, leaving the pain trapped inside his chest with no escape.

  After hours of isolation and oppressive quiet, he finally decided to leave the ruins of his home. It was time to face a reality even harsher.

  His steps led him toward the cemetery—a place that was no longer merely a corner for the dead, but had become the true “village,” where his family and everyone he had ever known now lay beneath its silent soil.

  Jumanji knelt beside the graves of his two children.

  With extreme gentleness, he brushed the soil with the tips of his fingers, as if he were stroking their hair or wiping their small cheeks.

  “I’m sorry… I’m truly sorry that I failed you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the bitterness of helplessness.

  Regret had settled deep within his heart. He blamed himself for what had happened, even though the disease had been stronger than any human strength.

  Yet such is the logic of fatherhood—it refuses to be anything but an unbreakable shield. And that shield had shattered before his eyes.

  Jumanji turned toward the graves of his parents and threw himself upon the soil, trying for a moment to sleep within each of their embraces.

  He longed for the warmth that had surrounded him since childhood, begging for a touch of tenderness that could heal his deep wounds.

  But he found nothing except the cruel coldness rising from the depths of the earth—a coldness that told him with bitter certainty that the safety he once knew was gone forever.

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  Then he bent his youthful body over the grave of his life’s companion and the mother of his children—the one with whom the roots of his life had grown since childhood, never once separated by the paths of fate.

  He stood there contemplating her eternal stillness, realizing the cruelty of separation.

  Death, that ancient adversary, does not distinguish between young and old. It shows no mercy to the weakness of a woman or the pride of a man.

  Human or otherwise… when its appointed time arrives, it writes the end in ink made of silence.

  Jumanji stepped back slowly. He bowed respectfully toward the graves of his parents, then stepped further back until his gaze encompassed the rows of graves that held every trace of his family and his former world.

  He bowed deeply before them all.

  Then he straightened his posture and looked at the gravestones with eyes burning with a strange determination.

  “If death has stolen you from me treacherously,” he declared, his voice shaking the silence itself, “then I, Jumanji Astar, declare my rebellion against it.

  I will bring you back to life—even if the price is my own life.

  I promise you that.”

  This decision had been born in the darkness of his home moments earlier. Now it had grown in his heart like a tree with unbreakable roots.

  His longing for his children’s laughter, the warmth of his parents, and the familiarity of his village had become stronger than the fear of death itself.

  At that moment, he remembered the words of the old man who had once spoken to him about the secrets of the outside world—how he had whispered about the existence of powers capable of digging up the dead and returning them to life.

  Although the old man had immediately dismissed those words as nothing more than legends, Jumanji no longer cared about established truths.

  He wanted to cling to even the thinnest thread, no matter how fragile, if it might lead him toward that forbidden possibility.

  He would not remain waiting for death to do as it pleased.

  He would walk his own path, searching for the impossible.

  For to die while trying was better than living with the regret of never trying at all.

  And then—only then—no one would be able to blame him, for he would have done everything he possibly could.

  Jumanji turned and gazed toward the distant horizon.

  “I will return someday,” he whispered with a solemn voice heavy as mountains. “This is a promise.”

  He fixed the bamboo hat upon his head to hide his youthful face, then began walking away from the ruins of his devastated village.

  Before leaving completely, curiosity and unease led him back toward the forgotten cave. He searched for his old body—the worn vessel that had housed him for years.

  But he found no trace of it.

  It was as if some mysterious magic had erased every sign of its existence.

  “Where did it go? It’s as if the earth opened and swallowed it!” he muttered in astonishment while searching the dark corners.

  Suddenly he stopped, struck by a storm of bitter questions.

  “Why this body in particular? How did my soul move into it? And who could possibly have the power to do such a thing… and for what purpose?”

  The silent cave offered no answers.

  Only silence that deepened his confusion.

  He brushed away the dust of uncertainty, gathered the fragments of his resolve, and set out toward the unknown.

  Passing through the dense bamboo forest a few kilometers from the village, he left his old life behind and began his new journey.

  Day after day, Jumanji ventured deeper into the forest’s belly, continuing his march with little rest—stealing only a few hours to sleep or quench his thirst—until the small supply he had carried from the village ruins ran out.

  Despite traveling great distances into that green wilderness, he had not seen a single human soul.

  The forest became his only companion, and silence his familiar friend.

  As he ventured deeper, emptiness began gnawing at his insides. The bitter growls of hunger echoed from his stomach, answered only by the whispering of trees.

  Jumanji tried to gather the strength to hunt something to eat from the animals of the forest, but he found himself helpless—without tools to aid him, and without a strong body accustomed to the skills of hunting.

  Water, however, was not his concern.

  The land generously provided springs and small streams that flowed everywhere. They were known as “Pensens,” rivers that ran like veins through the forest, granting life to any thirsty traveler.

  * * *

  “Where did that spoiled brat disappear to?!” one of the men shouted breathlessly while running through the dense undergrowth of the forest.

  His companion glanced at him while keeping pace, worry written across his face.

  “We must find him immediately. He has to return with us no matter what. We can’t just let him wander around like this.”

  “You’re right,” the first replied irritably while leaping over fallen branches. “That kid really doesn’t know his place. He thinks the world belongs to him and does whatever he wants. Even his brothers, who are the same age, never dared do something this reckless by coming along with us.”

  The second man paused briefly to catch his breath before speaking firmly.

  “Let’s split up now and widen the search. If the master finds out that we allowed him to accompany us, he’ll pour his fury upon us—and we might face punishments we cannot endure.”

  The other man nodded in agreement and ran off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the depths of the forest.

  Meanwhile, Jumanji moved forward with slow and weary steps. Exhaustion and weakness had taken a heavy toll on him. He had not eaten anything for three days and nights.

  Suddenly, a suspicious movement ahead caught his attention.

  He narrowed his eyes and moved forward cautiously, trying to pierce through the thick trees.

  Then he froze in place.

  Before him sat a gigantic bear, crouched with its massive back hunched over as if devouring some prey.

  A chill of danger spread through Jumanji’s body as he stared at the beast, which stood over two meters tall.

  As he attempted to retreat slowly to avoid a confrontation he had no strength to win, his foot crushed a dry branch beneath him.

  The crack echoed loudly through the silent forest.

  The bear turned instantly with a terrifying roar that shook the forest.

  Its eyes locked with Jumanji’s.

  What filled the boy with even greater horror was the sight of a human hand dangling between the blood-stained jaws of the beast.

  Without thinking, Jumanji turned and ran with all his might.

  Behind him, the bear sprang forward with savage roars that echoed through the forest, turning the silence into a battlefield for survival.

  Jumanji ran with his frail body, his heart hammering violently against his chest.

  Yet the bear was terrifyingly fast despite its enormous size.

  The distance between them shrank rapidly.

  Jumanji gasped for breath, exhaustion draining the last fragments of his strength.

  Suddenly, the massive trunk of a fallen tree blocked his path.

  He tried to leap over it, but his weakened body betrayed him.

  His foot twisted on the edge, and he fell hard onto the rough ground.

  He quickly turned around, terror filling his face.

  Long savage claws sliced through the air toward his chest.

  Driven by pure survival instinct, he rolled aside at the last moment.

  But he did not escape completely.

  The bear’s claws struck his back with a violent swipe, sending his youthful body flying through the air before he crashed against a nearby tree and collapsed trembling from the shock.

  His clothes tore open across his back.

  Warm blood began pouring out, soaking into the forest soil.

  Jumanji crawled backward weakly, his eyes fixed on the beast approaching him, breathing foul air as human blood dripped from its fangs.

  The bear raised its claws high, preparing to deliver the final blow that would tear Jumanji’s body apart.

  At that critical moment—

  An angry arrow sliced through the air like lightning.

  It pierced the bear’s head with perfect precision.

  The beast collapsed instantly, lifeless.

  Silence fell over the forest once more.

  The only sound left was Jumanji’s ragged breathing.

  End of Chapter