Canto 1: Perceived Reality

Two months later . . .

The fluorescent lights of Professor Bridges' office buzzed overhead, a monotonous drone that seemed to amplify the silence in the room.

Reynalyn sat rigidly in the worn leather armchair, her knuckles white as they gripped the worn armrests. Her gaze darted around the sterile space, finding no solace in the framed diplomas or the neatly stacked psychology journals on the bookshelf.

Every fiber of her being wanted to bolt, to escape the confines of the room and the weight of the memories it threatened to unleash.

Across from her, Professor Roan Binley Bridges, a woman whose kind eyes seemed perpetually framed by owlish spectacles observed Reyn with a quiet concern that did little to ease the churning in Reyn's gut.

The past few months had been a blur of nightmares and exhaustion, punctuated only by the monotonous routine of therapy sessions. Yet, here she was again, facing the woman who had become a reluctant confidante.

"Reyn," Professor Bridges began, her voice gentle yet firm, "We've made some progress with your anxieties and night terrors. You've been able to talk about the isolation, the fear of the unknown. But there's still a missing piece. Can you tell me what happened… exactly?"

Professor Bridges believes that it is the right time to talk what really happened two years ago.

Reynalyn flinched at the question, the terror lurking beneath the surface threatening to erupt. The memories were a tangled mess, a visceral nightmare that defied explanation.

Closing her eyes, she tried to push them back, to retreat into the fragile silence she'd built around herself. But the images were relentless: the flickering gas lanterns casting grotesque shadows on the cavern walls, the bone-chilling silence punctuated only by the drip-drip of unseen water, the way the darkness seemed to writhe with a life of its own.

The air in the room felt thick and suffocating, as if the mountain itself had followed her back.

A choked sob escaped her lips, a guttural sound that shattered the sterile atmosphere. Taking a shuddering breath, Reyn realized escape was futile.

This story, this confession, was a debt she owed not just to Professor Dee, but to the friends she'd lost and to her own fractured sanity. With a voice hoarse from disuse and raw with emotion, she began, "It wasn't the darkness, Professor. Not in the way you might think…"

April, 2016

Cyperus Rotundus University

The air in Professor Jasmine Dy's Literature 102 class crackled with nervous energy. It was Cyperus Rotundus University's final exams week, and most students clutched the ghosts of past midterms, their grades a reflection of late nights and neglected studies. But in Professor Dy's class, a different kind of tension hung heavy.

Professor Dy, known for her unconventional methods, stood at the front of the room, a playful glint in her eyes. "Forget textbooks and essays," she announced, her voice cutting through the murmuring anticipation. "This semester's final is all about bringing literature to life."

A collective gasp rippled through the class. No final exam? Relief washed over some, replaced by a flicker of concern in others.

"We're making a short film," Professor Dy declared, a wide grin splitting her face. A low groan erupted from the back of the room. "And it is a group project."

Reynalyn Lizada, or Reyn as her friends (well, the one or two she had) called her, sank lower in her seat. She excelled at analyzing metaphors and dissecting symbolism, but collaborating with others? That was a different story altogether.

The excitement in the room was palpable. Students buzzed with ideas, forming tentative alliances based on shared fandoms and film preferences. Reyn felt a familiar pang of isolation, her stomach twisting with a nervous knot. She usually retreated into the quiet corners of the library, finding solace in the company of fictional characters, not their real-life counterparts.

Professor Dy clapped her hands, silencing the room. "Groups will be randomly assigned, chosen from this… lovely hat of mine." She held up a battered fedora overflowing with slips of paper.

Reyn watched with a clenched jaw as the professor drew names. Laughter and relieved groans filled the air as groups formed, students gravitating toward familiar faces.

"Last group, Fantasy." Professor Dy said with a hint of surprise in her eyes. "Mark Anthony Uy, Ezekiel Reyes, Bernadette Chua, Merciline Hernandez, Vonster Green, Aaron Ford, Primitivo Lopez…" The professor's voice droned on, finally landing on the last slip. "And…" she paused dramatically, "Reynalyn Lizada."

Reyn felt a spotlight illuminate her corner of the room. Everyone turned, eyes scanning the class. She shrank back, a wave of nausea rising in her throat.

"There you are," boomed a voice from the back. A tall guy with a mischievous grin waved at her. He was the last one left, a collection of mismatched faces beside him. Reyn's heart hammered against her ribs. Her worst nightmare was a group of strangers, a project requiring collaboration, and a looming deadline.

A knowing smile appears on Professor Uy's lips. Among her students, the last group is quite, special!

A varsity team captain, a supreme student council officers, a campus beauty queen, the troublemakers, and lastly the loner princess.

****

Professor Dy's classroom buzzed with a different kind of energy now. Gone were the groans and despair, replaced by the flurry of excited chatter. Groups huddled together, ideas flying like sparks across the room.

Mark Anthony Uy, the charismatic president of the Supreme Student Council, held court in the center. His easy smile and confident demeanor earned him immediate nominations for group leader from the rest of his classmates. The cherry on top? Mark, a Development Communication major, boasted a treasure trove of filmmaking equipment a filmmaker's dream come true.

"Alright team," Mark boomed, his voice tinged with excitement. "Let's brainstorm! We need a location that screams fantasy, a place that'll transport viewers to another world."

Merciline Hernandez, the quiet but intelligent fourth-year Hospitality and Tourism Management student (and rumored ex-girlfriend of the notorious Vonster Green), pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe an old, abandoned castle ruin? It would have a certain mystique."

Vonster, the undeniable campus playboy and captain of the basketball team, his sculpted physique making even the most mundane tasks seem effortlessly cool, snorted. "Ruins are overdone, Mercy. We need something fresh, something that'll blow people away." He winked, earning a playful nudge from Bernadette, his best friend and Mercy's closest confidante.

Bernadette Chua, the undisputed "Campus Queen" and a third-year HRTM student, chimed in with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "What about a hidden waterfall? Imagine the ethereal beauty, the mist cascading down…"

Aaron Ford, the resident troublemaker, and a third-year Civil Engineering student, leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Too cliché, Chua. Let's think outside the box. Maybe an eerie cave system filled with glowing crystals?"

Ezekiel Reyes, a second-year Mechanical Engineering, pushed his thick glasses further up his nose as a nervous tremor ran through him. "Caves? Are we sure that's safe? What if there are… bats?" A chorus of groans and playful shoves greeted his question.

Primitivo Lopez, known only as "Yvo," the enigmatic first-year Psychology student, remained silent, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the group. His stoicism offered a stark contrast to the animated discussions swirling around him.

Just then, Reynalyn Lizada, the shy and reclusive second-year Nursing student, hesitantly piped up. The room fell silent, all eyes turning towards her, surprised to hear her voice pierce through the group.

"There's this place," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "Blackwood Mountain. My grandpa, he was a hunter, used to tell stories about it…"

Vonster, ever the pragmatist, scoffed.

"Blackwood Mountain? Come on, Lizada. That place is nothing but creepy stories and lost hikers. We need somewhere epic, not a potential disaster zone."

A flicker of defiance sparked in Reyn's eyes. "My grandpa always said it was beautiful – a hidden meadow untouched by time, bursting with rare flowers. Perfect for a fantasy setting."

Bernadette, ever the mediator, intervened. "Hold on. A hidden meadow sounds intriguing. But Von's right, safety first. Maybe we can research it, and see if there are any reliable trails?"

Mark, his gaze fixed on Reyn, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows, interjected. "Blackwood Mountain… actually, that could work. It's remote, untouched, perfect for creating a whole new world. The challenge of finding this hidden meadow could even be part of the plot."

He scanned the group, his enthusiasm infectious. "But like Bernadette said, safety comes first. We'll need to do our research, make sure it's accessible, and avoid any danger zones."

Ezekiel, still harboring some trepidation, cautiously chimed in. "Maybe we could contact the local park rangers, and see if they have any information about trails or safe routes."

A slow grin spread across Reyn's face. It was the first time she'd smiled since the group was formed, and a sense of tentative camaraderie began to settle over them.

"That's a great idea, Ezekiel," Mark confirmed. "We'll split the tasks. Reynalyn, you can tell us more about your grandpa's stories. Bernadette and Mercy can research online for reliable trails and maps. Andrew," he shot a playful glare at the troublemaker, "You can see if you can find any climbing or survival guides just in case."

A collective nod of agreement rippled through the group. The chaos of brainstorming had morphed into a collaborative effort, a spark of shared purpose uniting the group.

Blackwood Mountain, once a place shrouded in whispers, was now a destination, a challenge, and the potential setting for their fantasy film.

They might be a ragtag group of classmates thrown together by a project, but a sliver of excitement, of something bigger than themselves, began to bind them. The journey to find the hidden meadow, fraught with potential danger and sprinkled with local legend, had just begun.

****

April 17, 2016

The hum of twin turboprop engines faded as Ezekiel's sleek private plane touched down at the Nan Yue airport at precisely 11:00 am.

Sunlight glinted off the polished fuselage as the group disembarked, blinking in the unfamiliar brightness. Nan Yue, a bustling city nestled amidst lush greenery, was a stark contrast to the urban sprawl they'd left behind.

Their next leg of the journey was a car ride through winding roads, leading them ever closer to the imposing silhouette of Blackwood Mountain. The air grew cooler, the verdant landscape gradually morphing into dense forest as they neared the foot of the mountain.

Their destination is the local ranger station. It was a rustic building tucked away at the edge of a sleepy village. Inside, a wood-burning stove crackled, casting warm shadows across the room. Her back to the door, a frail figure sat in a rocking chair, her hands gnarled with age resting on a worn cane.

As the group approached, the rocking stopped. A voice, raspy yet surprisingly strong, filled the room. "Welcome, young travelers. You must be here for Blackwood Mountain."

Startled, the group exchanged glances. Mark, ever the leader, stepped forward. "Yes, actually. We're a group of students, here for a film project. We're looking to scout some locations for our short film."

The woman turned, her face hidden in shadow. But her milky-white eyes, clouded with age but still sharp, seemed to pierce right through them.

A long, heavy silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Then, the woman spoke, her voice laced with a chilling portent. "Blackwood Mountain… it ain't for the faint of heart. Legends whisper of its secrets, of paths that twist and turn, and shadows that linger. Many have ventured in, seeking adventure, seeking… never to be seen again."

A shiver ran down Reyn's spine. The stories her grandfather had shared suddenly seemed more real, more terrifying, than she'd ever imagined.

Vonster, however, scoffed. "Legends are just stories," he muttered, but a flicker of unease flickered in his eyes.

The old woman continued, her voice a low murmur. "The mountain holds a power, young ones. A power that can entice and beguile, then swallow you whole. Turn back now, and save yourselves the heartache."

A heavy silence descended upon the group. The weight of the woman's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the potential danger they were about to face. Bernadette, ever practical, cleared her throat.

"We appreciate your concern, ma'am. But we've come a long way, and we're determined to see this through."

The old woman shook her head, a look of deep sadness etched on her face. "Foolish pride leads to a cold grave," she whispered. "Remember, the mountain doesn't care for your stories or your films. It demands respect, and sometimes… a sacrifice."

As the old woman's words echoed in the silence, the group exchanged wary glances. The initial spark of excitement had dimmed, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease.

The silence stretched on, heavy with the weight of the old woman's words. Even the crackling fire seemed to sputter in response to her grim warning. Just as Bernadette opened her mouth to speak again, the creak of the ranger station door broke the tension.

A young woman in a worn ranger uniform entered, her face etched with concern. Her gaze swept over the group, settling on the old woman who sat rocking silently. "Granny Cheng," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Is everything alright here?"

Granny Cheng gave a curt nod. "Just some young travelers, seeking adventure on Blackwood Mountain." Her voice held a hint of accusation, directed at the group.

The ranger's eyebrows shot up. "Blackwood Mountain? Are you sure about that?"

Mark, mustering a confident smile, stepped forward. "Absolutely. We're a group of students working on a film project, and we think Blackwood Mountain could be the perfect setting."

The ranger exchanged a worried glance with a burly man who had just entered behind her. He was older, his face weathered by years spent outdoors.

"Blackwood Mountain isn't exactly the most… forgiving place," the older ranger rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Especially for young folks like yourselves. Lots of legends, lots of…unforeseen dangers."

Ezekiel, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, piped up, his voice trembling slightly. "But… the internet said there are marked trails. We'll just stick to those, right?"

The older ranger sighed, a humorless sound. "Trails can get lost, young man. Especially in Blackwood. And believe me, you wouldn't want to get lost up there."

A tense silence descended once more. The carefree excitement that had fueled their journey had been replaced by a chilling sense of foreboding. Yet, a flicker of determination still burned in some of their eyes.

Bernadette, ever the pragmatist, finally broke the silence. "Look, we appreciate your concern. But we've come all this way, and we're prepared. If you're worried about safety, perhaps you could assign us a guide?"

The ranger exchanged another glance with his partner, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, the young woman spoke. "Alright, listen closely. We wouldn't normally allow inexperienced hikers like yourselves anywhere near Blackwood, but seeing as you've come so far… We'll assign you both of us as guides. But make no mistake, this is a risky venture. One wrong turn, one misstep, and…" she trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

"You're dead!"

A wave of nervous excitement rippled through the group. The prospect of danger now seemed strangely intertwined with the thrill of adventure. With a mix of trepidation and determination, they accepted the rangers' offer.

The seemingly straightforward film project had taken a sharp turn, leading them deeper into the heart of Blackwood Mountain, a place where legend intertwined with reality, and where the line between adventure and danger had become frighteningly thin.

The true test, it seemed, was just beginning.

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