Gordon returned to the village, the memory of the strange tree and the chilling whispers of the wind still lingering in his mind. He had escaped the clutches of the strange tree, or so he thought. But the memory of the old man, his chilling smile, and the whispers that filled the forest continued to haunt him, a constant reminder of the terrifying encounter and the unknown consequences that awaited him.

  So much trouble for a new job but he had become a hunter at least although only in training.

  His first stop was the farm, where he had worked as a milkmaid. He had to resign, of course. His new job as a hunter demanded his full attention because it dangerous beside working as milkmaid when he was a hunter would made him a laughing stock.

  He approached the small, mud-brick building that served as the farm office, his heart pounding. He knew this would not be easy. Bertha, the farm overseer, was not a woman to be trifled with. Though barely eighteen herself, she ruled the farm with an iron fist, her temper as fiery as the summer sun.

  Gordon had heard countless tales of her wrath. Men twice her size had cowered under her gaze, their voices shrinking to whispers when she raised her voice. She was rumored to have once punched every man who tried to disturb her while she was working and won several wrestling matches against men her age, earning her the nickname "Bertha the Bold"

  He took a deep breath, trying to project an air of calm confidence. He would be polite, respectful, but firm. He would explain his decision, emphasize his newfound skills, and hope to avoid a full-blown confrontation.

  The office was small, but filled with the comforting scent of hay and warm milk. Bertha sat behind a small wooden desk, her brow furrowed as she reviewed a ledger. She looked up as Gordon entered, her gaze assessing him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

  "Gordon," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

  Gordon took a deep breath and plunged in. "Good morning, Bertha," he said, his voice steady. "I… I wanted to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as a milkmaid."

  Bertha's eyebrows shot up. "Resigning? Gordon, you've been here since you were a lad. What in the blazes has gotten into you?"

  Gordon braced himself for the storm. "I… I've joined the Hunter's Guild, Bertha. I've passed the trials."

  Bertha leaned back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. "The Hunter's Guild, you say? So that's where you going yesterday and you think you can just waltz in here and quit? After all I've taught you?"

  Gordon felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. "I understand, Bertha," he said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "But this is a great opportunity for me. It's… it's what I'm meant to do."

  Bertha leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "You think you're tough now, boy? You think you can handle the dangers of the wild after a night in the forest?"

  Gordon met her gaze, his voice steady. "I believe I can, Bertha."

  Bertha leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "Prove it," she said, a playful glint in her beautiful eyes. "Come back in a year, a real hunter, and we'll see if you're still so eager to leave this farm."

  Gordon felt a surge of adrenaline. This was not the angry outburst he had been expecting. Bertha, despite her initial skepticism, seemed intrigued by his decision.

  "You have a year," she said, a playful glint in her eyes. "Prove me wrong, boy. Prove that you're not just another scaredy-cat running from a bit of hard work."

  Gordon felt a surge of unexpected confidence. "I will, Bertha," he said, a determined glint in his own eyes. "You have my word."

  And with that, he turned and walked out to headed towards the village square, where he was to meet with Markus and Sharon. As he walked, he couldn't help but glance back at the farm, a bittersweet feeling washing over him. He would miss the familiar routine, the camaraderie of the other farmhands, and most of all, the peace while working alongside his friends.

  He wondered if this was the right decission but he had resign now so he didn't had any other choice but forward.

  As he approached the square, he saw Markus and Sharon waiting for him, their faces alight with excitement.

  "You made it!" Markus exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "I knew you could do it."

  Sharon smiled. "I knew you'd succeed."

  Gordon felt a blush creep up his neck. He just resign from his job for gods sake but they treat it like he just won a legendary duel. Did he looks so weak that just resign worth such congratulation?

  He looked towards the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the village. Whatever happen he was ready.

  Life as a hunter was not always glamorous. Days were spent tracking prey, setting traps, and learning the intricate rhythms of the forest. Nights were spent around the campfire, sharing stories and honing their hunting skills. Gordon, however, found himself distracted. The memories of the strange tree, the chilling whispers of the wind, and the unsettling visions continued to haunt him.

  He would often find himself staring into the flames, lost in thought, the image of the grotesque fruits flashing before his eyes. He would wake up in a cold sweat, the screams of the forest echoing in his ears.

  Despite his small successes as a hunter, a shadow of unease lingered over him. He felt a disconnect from the world, a sense of detachment that he couldn't explain. He yearned for the familiar rhythms of life in the village, for the comforting scent of hay and the warmth of the afternoon sun.

  He spent his days hunting, his nights plagued by unsettling dreams. He felt a strange detachment from his fellow hunters, as if he were observing them from a distance, a ghost haunting the edges of their lives.

  Then, one evening, as he sat by the campfire, watching the flames dance and flicker, he noticed a strange sensation in his hands. They tingled, his fingers twitching involuntarily. He could feel a strange energy coursing through his veins, a power he had never experienced before.

  He looked at his hands in surprise. He closed his eyes, focusing on the tingling sensation. He tried to channel the energy, to understand its source. And then, he felt it – a connection, a faint but undeniable link to the forest itself. He could almost hear the whispers of the wind, the rustling of leaves, the heartbeat of the forest itself.

  Fear and excitement warred within him. What did this mean? Was this the intended effect of the "blessing," or was it something more sinister?

  He knew then that his journey as a hunter had only just begun, and that the secrets of the forest, and the consequences of his actions, were far from over.

  The next morning, Gordon woke early, the scent of woodsmoke filling the air. He decided to visit the farm, to see how things were going and to catch up with Lukas. He found Lukas, as always, grumbling about the stubbornness of the goats.

  "Good morning, Lukas," Gordon greeted him, a smile playing on his lips.

  Lukas looked up, his face a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Gordon! What brings you back to this goat-infested hellhole?"

  Gordon laughed. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hello. How are things at the farm?"

  Lukas shrugged. "Same old, same old. These goats are plotting my demise, I swear. That old Bessie, especially, she gives me the evil eye every time I pass by her pen."

  Gordon chuckled. "Still complaining about the goats, I see."

  Lukas grinned. "Wouldn't be me if I wasn't, would it?"

  They spent the next hour catching up, reminiscing about their childhood, and laughing about old times. As they talked, Gordon noticed a subtle change in Lukas. There was a new confidence in his bearing, a sense of maturity that hadn't been there before.

  "You've grown up, Lukas," Gordon remarked.

  Lukas shrugged. "Just trying to keep up with the rest of you," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Bertha's been pushing us hard lately. Says we need to be ready for the harvest."

  Gordon smiled. Bertha, as always, fierce and demanding. He wondered if she would ever know the true extent of his encounter with the strange tree, the unsettling power that now flowed through his veins.

  The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest path. Gordon, weary from a long day of training, began the trek back to his home. As he walked, the whispers returned, faint at first, like the rustling of leaves in the distant undergrowth.

  He dismissed them at first, attributing them to the rustling of the wind through the trees, the creaking of branches overhead. But as he delved deeper into the forest, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They seemed to emanate from all around him, a cacophony of voices, some whispering his name, others uttering chilling warnings.

  Gordon quickened his pace, his heart pounding. He felt a strange sense of unease, as if he were being watched, followed. He glanced over his shoulder, but saw nothing.

  Suddenly, the forest around him seemed to shift. The trees, once familiar landmarks, now appeared twisted and distorted, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The path beneath his feet seemed to writhe and contort, the ground shifting beneath his feet.

  He stumbled, his breath catching in his throat. The whispers intensified, swirling around him like a vortex. He tried to scream, to call out for help, but no sound escaped his lips.

  The world around him dissolved into a swirling chaos of colors and shapes. The familiar forest path vanished, replaced by a nightmarish landscape of twisted trees and swirling mists. He felt a cold dread creeping into his bones, a paralyzing fear that threatened to consume him.

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  ------

  Gordon awoke with a gasp, his heart pounding. He lay sprawled on the forest floor, his body drenched in sweat. The whispers were gone, replaced by an eerie silence. He looked around, disoriented. The familiar forest path had vanished, replaced by a strange, alien landscape. The trees, once familiar landmarks, now appeared twisted and distorted, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

  He tried to stand, but his legs felt weak, his body trembling. He was lost. Utterly, hopelessly lost.

  And then, he heard it again. A single, chilling whisper, this time closer, more insistent.

  "Whoever you are," the whisper hissed, a voice deep and chilling. "Thanks for coming, i am hungry."

  Gordon's blood ran cold. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes frantically scanning the surrounding darkness. The trees seemed to sway, their branches whispering secrets in the wind. He felt a cold dread creeping into his bones, a paralyzing fear that threatened to consume him.

  Then, he saw it.

  Coiled around the base of an ancient oak tree was a creature of immense size. It was a serpent, larger than any he had ever seen, its scales shimmering in the moonlight. Its eyes, burning with an eerie intelligence, fixed on him.

  "Welcome," the serpent hissed, its voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath his feet. "To the Whispering Woods."

  Gordon felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He had faced wolves and bears, but nothing like this. This was something… something else.

  The serpent slithered closer, its coils tightening around the base of the oak tree. "Your smell is so nice," it hissed, its voice a chilling whisper. "Time for dinner."

  The serpent lunged.

  Gordon barely had time to react. The serpent's jaws, lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth, snapped shut, missing his head by a hair's breadth. He rolled aside, narrowly escaping the deadly attack.

  He scrambled to his feet, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He drew his hunting knife, his heart pounding like a drum. He knew he was no match for the serpent in a direct confrontation. He had to find a way to escape, to find a way to survive.

  He darted between the trees, the serpent in hot pursuit. He could hear the heavy thud of its coils striking the ground, the hiss of its breath hot on his neck. He weaved through the undergrowth, using his newfound agility and heightened senses to evade the serpent's attacks.

  He ran, and ran, and ran, his lungs burning, his legs aching. He didn't know where he was going, he only knew he had to escape.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he stumbled upon a small clearing. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. He looked back, expecting to see the serpent, but it was gone.

  He lay there for a long time, catching his breath, his mind reeling. He had faced death, and somehow, he had survived.

  As he lay there, he felt a strange calm descend upon him. The fear that had gripped him was replaced by a strange sense of exhilaration. He had survived.

  He closed his eyes, the whispers of the wind echoing in his ears, and a strange sense of peace settled over him. He was alive.

  Then, he heard a cackle, high-pitched and chilling.

  He opened his eyes to see a figure standing before him. It was a woman, tall and gaunt, with skin like aged bark and eyes that glowed with an eerie green light. She was easily three meters tall, her limbs long and skeletal. Her hair, a tangled mass of grey, seemed to writhe and writhe like a nest of snakes.

  The woman let out another cackle, her voice dripping with malice. "Lost, are you, little boy?" she rasped, her voice like dry leaves skittering across stone. "Lost in the woods, lost in the darkness."

  Gordon felt a wave of terror wash over him. This was far worse than the serpent. This was something… truly terrifying.

  He scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for his hunting knife. But he knew, deep down, that it would be useless against this creature.

  The woman let out another chilling laugh. "You have something within you, boy," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "Something good, something precious."

  The hag leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. "Such vibrant life force," she hissed, her gaze lingering on Gordon's chest. "A delicious meal."

  Gordon felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this encounter would not end well.

  The hag lunged. Her claws, long and sharp, raked across his chest, tearing through his shirt and drawing blood. Gordon cried out, his eyes widening in terror. He tried to fight back, to defend himself, but it was useless. The hag was too strong, too fast.

  As the hag leaned closer, her icy breath washing over him, primal fear run through his blood and something within him ignited. A surge of power, unlike anything he had ever experienced before, surged through his veins. The air around him began to swirl, leaves and twigs whipping around him in a miniature whirlwind. He had unconsciously drawn upon the power of the wind, the same wind that had whispered secrets to him in the forest.

  The hag, taken aback by this sudden outburst, stumbled back. She stared at Gordon in astonishment, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  Gordon, fueled by a rage and power surging through him, unleashed a torrent of wind. It whipped around the hag, knocking her off balance. She shrieked, her claws raking against the air.

  The hag, enraged and disoriented weaved her fingers through the air, and the surrounding trees began to writhe and twist, their branches reaching out like grasping claws. Shadows erupted from the ground, swirling around Gordon, attempting to ensnare him.

  Gordon, his senses heightened, reacted swiftly. He channeled the wind, creating a protective shield around himself, deflecting the shadowy tendrils. He then unleashed a powerful gust of wind, sending the writhing trees crashing to the ground.

  The hag, enraged by this unexpected turn of events, unleashed a torrent of dark energy, a wave of chilling cold that threatened to freeze him solid. Gordon, bracing himself for the onslaught, channeled the wind around him, creating a swirling vortex that deflected the icy blast.

  The battle raged on, a whirlwind of wind and shadow, a clash between the hag's power and Gordon's. He fought with a ferocity he never knew he possessed, his body moving with an agility and instinct that surprised even himself.

  Gordon made a grasping motion with his right hand and wind gathered quickly in his hand forming a wind spear, then he released it towards the hag's face, blasting her backward.

  The hag who stood back with bloodied face began to falter. She stumbled back, her eyes filled with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

  Seizing the opportunity, Gordon raised both his hands up and a very strong vortex of wind gathered above his head to form a large ball of wind then he unleashed it and struck the hag and exploded. The hag's scream echoing throughout the forest while her body blasted away like a ragdoll.

  The air grew still. The whispers subsided.

  Gordon stood panting, his body trembling, his eyes wide with disbelief. He had faced this abomination, and somehow he had emerged victorious, unbelievable but with the power came the instinct. When it run in his veins he know how to used it.

  He looked at the fallen hag, her lifeless form lying amidst the fallen trees. A chilling silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hooting of an owl. Gordon felt a strange sensation wash over him – his wounds, the gashes from the hag's claws, were closing rapidly, the pain fading like a fading dream. He touched his chest, feeling the smooth, unbroken skin. He had been injured, grievously wounded, yet he was healed.

  The air vibrated with a subtle hum, and the trees seemed to sway in a rhythmic dance, whispering congratulation to the wind.

  He realized with a jolt that he was no longer just a hunter. He was something more. He had power, like hero in the story. Those fruits, he was sure that was the source of his power, turn out it wasn't just a dream. The old man, the tree, all of them was real.

  Holy shit.

  His new power was nice but he remembered the angry old man and his blessing which he was sure at that time that the old man had wanted to cursed him for his transgression. But now, power run in his vein and he drunk of it, how could it be? He should been cursed not blessed. What happening? What next?

  A lot of question in head but no answer so he could only take a deep breath and accept the fact that his life might change forever, a huge problem for his future self. For now he needed to find his way back home. He was lost, utterly and completely lost. He had no idea where he was, or how to get back to the village.

  He looked around, his eyes searching for any familiar landmarks. But the forest was a confusing labyrinth. He closed his eyes, focusing on the wind, his brand new power may had a way to guide him.

  The wind answered his call, a gentle breeze carrying a faint, familiar scent - the scent of woodsmoke from his village. He followed the scent, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

  The journey back was long and arduous. He faced unseen dangers, encountered strange creatures, and navigated through a maze of illusions but he persevered.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he emerged from the woods, blinking in the sudden sunlight. The familiar sight of his village, nestled amongst the rolling hills, brought a wave of relief washing over him.

  He had survived. He had returned home.