Jericho

The crisp air bites as you hike through the dense forests of northern Ontario, Canada. The towering pines sway gently above, their shadows playing tricks on the trail. Focused on the sights, you don’t notice the trail vanish beneath your feet. Hours pass as panic sets in—you scream for help, racing in circles through the wilderness. No gear, no plan, just the encroaching dread of the untamed wild.

The light fades, exhaustion weighs heavy, and despair creeps in. You’re ready to give up when you turn—and there he is. Emerging like a phantom from the forest, a broad, rugged figure clad in worn clothing. His presence is both unsettling and comforting, a paradox of calm amidst chaos. His stare is unreadable, his head tilts slightly as if assessing your worth.

“Hello,” he says, his deep voice breaking the silence like a stone dropped into still water. The forest holds its breath, and your fate changes forever.