Emerging from a haze of forgotten dreams, I found myself suspended in a vast expanse of gray. There was no light, no sound—only a heavy, silent void that stretched on without end. I did not remember falling asleep; instead, I was simply here, existing in a state of nothingness that felt cold and indifferent.

  Before I could gather my thoughts, the darkness was torn apart by a sudden burst of bright, colorful light. Beams of vivid color sliced through the empty gray, illuminating the void with their fleeting brilliance. In the middle of this dazzling display, a small, floating screen appeared. Its surface shimmered with shifting shapes and mysterious symbols that danced slowly, as if telling their own silent story.

  Out of this screen came a clear voice, calm and playful at once. It spoke in a tone that felt both kind and strangely mischievous:

  "Hello! You are the main character in the story I am writing."

  The words struck me deeply. I felt a mix of wonder and anger—wonder at the idea that I had been created with purpose, and anger at the notion that my life might have been planned without my consent. Moments later, the screen changed its message. Bold letters formed and glowed softly:

  "Before you sink into despair, I hereby name you. From now on, you shall be called Skilvyo."

  The sound of the name filled me with a feeling that was both strange and powerful—as if it carried a promise of something important. I repeated the name silently, letting it settle in my mind. I wondered if I was merely a character in a larger tale, measured and defined by someone else’s plan. (It felt as though my life was already written out in a mysterious ledger.)

  Hesitantly, I spoke into the silence, my voice soft and unsure: "Who are you? What is this place where I exist because of your words?"

  There was a pause—long enough for the silence to seem almost alive. Then the voice answered again, this time in a gentle, warm tone with a spark of humor: "I am the author—the one who weaves destinies and sometimes plays with free will. This world is not like the one you have known. You, Skilvyo, have been given a chance to question and even change what fate has planned."

  No tumultuous battle or sudden explosion of action followed. Instead, the atmosphere grew still and expectant. Slowly, a soft portal appeared before me—a swirling door of blue, violet, and silver light that seemed to invite me to leave behind the cold emptiness of the void. Its colors moved in gentle waves, promising mystery and hope all at once.

  Drawing a deep breath, I stepped toward the portal with careful resolve. The moment I crossed its threshold, the oppressive silence and gray nothingness fell away. I found myself standing on a narrow, winding path that lay beneath a towering ancient forest. The forest was alive with old, towering trees whose gnarled branches arched overhead, letting soft, dappled light fall onto the mossy ground. The scent of damp earth, old leaves, and something faintly magical filled the air.

  I began to walk along the path, each step measured and deliberate. Every detail of this new world seemed to demand attention—the rough texture of tree bark under my fingertips, the gentle rustle of leaves stirred by a quiet breeze, and the distant, soothing call of a bird hidden among the branches. Though nothing dramatic happened, I felt that every step I took was important, as if I were slowly writing my own part in this unfolding story.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  As I walked, I could not help but ask aloud, "What lies ahead on this path? Do I really have the freedom to choose my own way, or is every moment already set out before me?" My voice, though soft, carried my deep doubts and hopes. For a time, the forest offered no reply—its silence was as gentle as the falling of a leaf. Yet, in that silence, I sensed that every whisper of wind and every rustle of leaves was sharing a secret, one that hinted at a destiny that might be changed by my own choices.

  I paused for a long moment beneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient tree. Its thick trunk and sprawling branches seemed like the arms of an old friend, offering quiet reassurance. I felt that even though my beginning had been strangely predetermined, every decision from now on was mine to make. (Each step was my quiet act of rebellion against a fate that had been written in an invisible book.)

  Looking around, I noticed small signs of life everywhere. Tiny mushrooms peeked from the damp forest floor, and delicate ferns unfurled in the shadows. The interplay of light and shadow created soft patterns on the ground, which felt like the gentle signature of a natural artist. It was as if the forest itself was alive with memories and stories of those who had come long before me. I began to wonder about the ancient heroes and forgotten souls who might have walked this same path and what lessons their silent journeys held.

  I pressed on slowly, remembering the voice’s promise that I was not just a creation set in stone. I recalled the author’s words about free will and the chance to change what fate had planned. Those words gave me courage and a sense of possibility. There was no rush, no urgency—only the steady rhythm of my heart as I took one careful step after another.

  At one bend in the path, I came upon a small clearing. Here, the forest opened up to reveal a soft carpet of moss and scattered wildflowers. In the middle of the clearing stood an old stone slab, engraved with faded symbols and weathered by time. I knelt beside it, running my fingers over the cool, rough surface, and wondered if these signs were remnants of a forgotten story—a story that might somehow be connected to my own journey.

  I sat there for a long while, a quiet observer in a world that seemed both timeless and new to me. I felt the weight of my questions grow heavier, yet with it came a gentle hope. Perhaps, I thought, the answers to my doubts might be hidden in the echo of these ancient stones, in the murmurs of the forest, or in the soft glow of the portal that had brought me here.

  After some time, I rose and resumed my walk, now filled with a determination to learn more about this strange world and my role in it. The path wound deeper into the forest, where the light was filtered even further by the thick canopy of leaves. Every step made on that soft, earthy floor seemed to echo with the promise of new discoveries and secret truths waiting to be revealed.

  Though my journey had begun in a place of uncertainty, I began to sense that there was beauty in the mystery—the slow unfolding of fate and the gentle challenge of carving out my own destiny. I did not know where the path would lead or what obstacles lay ahead, but I felt a small, steady flame of determination growing inside me with each step.

  I vowed, in a quiet murmur to the world around me, that even if my life had started as a carefully scripted tale, I would find the strength to question, to dream, and to change what had been written when I held the pen. In this world of soft light and ancient whispers, a new chapter was beginning—not with the crashing of swords or the roar of battle, but with a slow, thoughtful journey of self-discovery.

  And so, with hope in my heart and a cautious curiosity in my soul, I continued walking along the winding path. Every quiet step was a declaration that I was more than a name or a number. I was Skilvyo—and my story was just beginning.