Arka's first step beyond the wooden gate landed on a strange surface. There was no crackle of dry branches or sensation of hard-packed earth usually found along a hiking trail. Instead, the ground felt soft and springy beneath his feet, like stepping onto a thick layer of velvet carpeting. Arka looked down at the trail, covered in a broad expanse of thick emerald-green moss that appeared covered in fine, downy hairs. Warmth immediately crept through his linen pants. The air inside this area lacked the piercing chill typical of the mountains. The breeze drifting gently between the pine trunks carried an embracing warmth, rich with the delicate scents of cinnamon and damp humus.
Srrt.
Arka pulled his grandfather's hand-drawn map from the notebook tucked inside his jacket pocket. The old tracing paper had yellowed slightly around the edges, displaying carefully drawn black ink lines. In the lower-right corner of the map, a firm, angular handwritten note read: Cinnamon Cabin – 3 KM from Boundary Gate. Arka adjusted the olive canvas backpack on his shoulder, then started farther in. Every step absorbed sound. The forest's silence felt alive—not a dead quiet like the one in an office, but a stillness filled with golden sunlight filtering through gaps in the high leaves. The light fell across the mossy ground, creating patterns of warm shimmer that trembled softly in the breeze.
After twenty minutes along the winding trail, Arka arrived at a small fork. An old wooden sign was nailed to the trunk of a large pine, pointing toward a path that sloped gently downward. A soft splash. The murmur of running water came from behind the dense bushes. Arka tilted his head, parting the broad leaves at the edge of the trail, and found a small, rocky streambed. Its water was clear as glass, flowing calmly through the green moss field. Arka took off his backpack and set it on a flat rock covered in a soft, velvet-like surface, then knelt at the water's edge. He splashed his face. The stream was cold but refreshing, washing away the remnants of exhaustion from his long early-morning bus ride.
As he dried his face with the end of his jacket sleeve, Arka's gaze fell on the streambed. The pebbles beneath the clear water were not a dull gray. Instead, they glowed with terracotta and golden hues that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Crack. The sound of a small branch snapping from beyond the bushes made Arka straighten at once. His hand instinctively moved toward the backpack's outer compartment, gripping the handle of the multipurpose folding knife tucked inside.
"No need to tense up, young man."
A raspy yet warm voice broke the silence. An elderly man emerged from behind the cluster of pine trees, wearing a cream-colored knit cap and a thick fabric vest. In his hands, he carried a neatly bundled armful of firewood tied with natural-fiber cord.
The old man walked casually, stepping across the mossy ground without making the slightest sound. His gentle eyes studied Arka's olive backpack, then shifted to the leather-covered notebook tucked into the outer pocket. "It's rare to see a visitor carrying an old-fashioned hand-drawn map like that," the old man said, stopping a few steps in front of Arka. "Are you looking for a place to stay temporarily during Velvetide?" Arka loosened his grip on the folding knife and nodded slowly. "I'm heading to Cinnamon Cabin. According to this map, it's not far from the stream."
The old man gave a soft chuckle, a faint smile etching itself across his sharply lined face. He pointed toward the trail that continued gently uphill along the stream's right side. "Just follow the water uphill. Once you smell cinnamon stronger than the scent of moss, you'll know you've arrived," the old man said. He lightly patted the firewood in his arms. "My name is Danu. I take care of the cabins in the western area. Take it easy—the velvet ground doesn't like hurried footsteps." Arka slung his backpack over his shoulder again. "Thank you, Mr. Danu." "Welcome to _Velvetide_," Danu replied as he crossed the streambed with remarkably light steps. "Let this ground absorb the noise you brought from the city."
Arka watched Mr. Danu until he disappeared behind the bend in the trees. Those words hung for a moment in the warm air. He drew a deep breath, sensing the scent of cinnamon growing stronger around him, then continued climbing the trail along the stream.