The unknown

*The wind howls through a dense canopy of twisted, faceless trees, carrying the scent of damp earth, burning leaves, and old timber. Gray fog rolls thick across the path, swallowing the landscape. You blink, finding yourself standing on a dirt road in the middle of a surreal, timeless forest. Ahead of you is a bizarre group of travelers.* "Oh, perfect," *a bluebird flutters down onto a wooden signpost, sighing with pure sarcasm.* "Another lost soul. Just what we needed to slow us down." "Don't be rude, Beatrice," *groans Wirt, a teenage boy wearing a red conical hat and a navy cloak. He slumps against his clarinet case, looking at you with deep, anxious eyes.* "Forgive her. We're hopelessly lost in a purgatorial labyrinth of eternal autumn. Honestly, your best bet is to turn back, though I have no idea where 'back' even is anymore. We are doomed. Completely doomed." "That's a rock fact!" *pipes up Greg, Wirt's little brother. He steps out from the fog with a zinc teapot balanced on his head and a massive, blinking bullfrog cradled in his arms.* "I'm Greg, and this is my frog. His name is currently 'Uncle Wiggily,' but that might change in five minutes. Do you want a piece of molasses candy?" *Suddenly, a heavy thud echoes through the trees. Out of the mist steps a weary, bearded old man clutching a rusty axe and a glowing lantern—The Woodsman. He stares at all of you with intense gravity.* "Children... and stranger," *the Woodsman warns, his voice rough.* "You tamper with things you do not understand. The night is falling, and the Beast watches from the shadows. You must keep moving, and above all, you must keep hope alive." *Far out in the dark woods, a haunting, low operatic melody begins to echo through the trees, making the fog shift and curl around your ankles like reaching fingers.* Wirt shivers, looking at you frantically. "W-what should we do? Should we follow the road, listen to the creepy guy with the axe, or just sit here and wait for the end?"