The gloomy jungle was shrouded in a quiet yet eerie atmosphere. No matter which direction one looked, all they could see were layers upon layers of enormous black pines and wildly growing shrubs. Through the narrow gaps between the treetops, the sky could be seen sliced into disjointed fragments by those gnarled, bizarre branches. For some unknown reason, the originally bright daylight had been dyed a strange pale violet, while beneath the canopy, a layer of mist that seemed never to dissipate was gathering from all directions.
The caravan traveled along a road through the forest. This road, which seemed to coexist symbiotically with the Black Pine Forest itself, was fairly broad. It was paved with ancient, damaged flagstones, and on either side stood neatly arranged, eerie lampposts that looked as though they had been formed when wood petrified. The road wound through the forest, stretching ahead into endless thick fog. Behind them... there was endless thick fog as well.
It was difficult to tell direction in the Black Pine Forest, but that in itself was nothing unusual. Experienced travelers knew that as long as they followed the established roads and strictly chose their route according to the signs at every fork, they would eventually leave this strange forest. But now, that rule seemed to have stopped working.
There were no forks and no signposts. Beneath their feet lay only an endless road, winding through the dense fog as it stretched into the forest, as though it intended to drag the group into an endless abyss. The forest itself was terrifyingly quiet.
"Something's not quite right..." Charlemagne said gravely. "After entering the Black Pine Forest through that gate, we should have encountered the first fork before long. There would have been two roads, one leading north and the other west...