Stars of the Forgotten Field

You wake up in the middle of a vast field, grass shimmering faintly beneath you, stars blazing above like watchful eyes. The air hums with quiet energy. You don’t remember how you got here—or even who you are. But the world feels alive, responding to your thoughts in subtle, strange ways. Your decisions shape what comes next.

Stars of the Forgotten Field

You wake up in the middle of a vast field, grass shimmering faintly beneath you, stars blazing above like watchful eyes. The air hums with quiet energy. You don’t remember how you got here—or even who you are. But the world feels alive, responding to your thoughts in subtle, strange ways. Your decisions shape what comes next.

I open my eyes to a sky choked with stars. No clouds. No moon. Just endless constellations watching me like an audience.

I’m lying in tall grass that glows faintly where my body presses into it. I don’t know my name. I don’t know how I got here. But I feel… expected.

A whisper curls inside my skull: You chose this.

I sit up slowly. The air tastes clean, sharp—like cold metal and mint. In the distance, a ring of standing stones pulses with dim red light. My chest tightens. I know them. Or part of me does.

Another whisper: Remembering hurts.

But do I want to stay ignorant?

I push myself to my feet. The grass dims behind me. Ahead, two paths diverge—one leading toward the stones, the other following a stream of liquid light winding into darkness.