Hollow and hexborn

The morning after their uneasy supper in Cinderbrook, the village was already stirring with a subdued energy. Havyn awoke early in the cramped cot at the workshop, the dawn light creeping in through a narrow window. His body ached from the previous day's labor and the bruises that still throbbed, but he couldn't afford to linger in sleep. Outside, rain had ceased, replaced by a cool, crisp morning mist that clung to the fields and lanes.

Selene was still asleep beside him when he woke. Her delicate features were relaxed in slumber—a brief respite from the perpetual tension of their recent ordeals. He gently brushed a damp lock of hair away from her forehead, silently vowing to keep her safe no matter what lay ahead.

After a few quiet moments, Havyn rose, careful not to disturb her. He stepped outside into the village, where the gentle bustle of early activity mingled with the soft rustle of wind through the birch trees. The repaired fence and the modest structures of Cinderbrook lent the place an air of fragile normalcy, but every face and every glance reminded him that trust here was a luxury, and danger might lurk behind every kindly smile.

Havyn made his way to the edge of the village and found Harwick, busy repairing a section of the town's crumbling boundary wall. The old man's grizzled face bore the marks of many hard years, and his eyes, though wary, softened slightly when they met Havyn's.

"Morning," Harwick greeted curtly as Havyn approached. "How's your friend faring today?"

"Better, I hope," Havyn replied. "Eve said she'd see to her wounds, and she did a fine job. Now I'm off to gather the white creeper root Harwick mentioned."

Harwick's expression grew serious. "That root's not easy to come by. It grows deep in the woods, where the damp and the shadows hold sway. But we need it for the herbalist's remedies. And mind you, the wrong root might worsen a patient's condition."

Havyn nodded, his mind already drifting to the details Eve had scribbled on the note—a rough drawing of a slender, pale-rooted creeper with delicate buds. "I'll be cautious," he assured him.

Harwick handed him a small bundle of tools—a rusted but serviceable sickle, a leather pouch for carrying samples, and a crude map of the surrounding woods. "Stay on the marked path and avoid the areas where the forest grows too thick. There have been whispers of strange lights and sounds there. And if you run into trouble… don't be a hero. Return and let us know."

With that, Havyn set off, leaving Harwick and the subdued clamor of the village behind. His heart pounded with both determination and worry; the task ahead was simple in theory, but the woods around Cinderbrook were known to be as capricious as they were dangerous—especially after the recent disturbances involving robed cultists and dark magic.

Into the Woods

The path marked on the map led him toward a copse of trees that marked the edge of the cultivated fields and the beginning of the untamed forest. Tall pines and birches towered overhead, their leaves whispering secrets in the wind. Havyn's druidic senses—ever alert—tuned into the ambient magic of the woods, and he noted with unease a faint tremor in the natural balance. It was as if the forest itself was unsettled, its rhythms out of tune.

He moved quietly, stepping over tangled roots and ducking beneath low-hanging branches. Every so often, a flash of movement in the corner of his eye reminded him that he was not alone in these woods. His senses sharpened as he drew closer to the area marked on the map. The white creeper root was said to grow in a damp clearing near a fallen log, where the soil was rich and moist.

After nearly an hour of cautious trekking, Havyn reached a small glade. The air here was cool and heavy with the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves. In the center of the clearing lay a massive log, its bark darkened with rot, and around it sprouted several slender plants with pale, almost luminescent roots. Havyn knelt, inspecting them carefully.

"This must be it," he murmured, recalling Eve's detailed instructions. Carefully, he drew his sickle and began to harvest the roots, making sure to take only what he needed so as not to destroy the plant. The process required precision—one wrong cut and the plant might die, or worse, release a burst of defensive toxins. His hands moved methodically, guided by years of survival and the residual magic of his druidic nature.

Just as he secured the last bundle in his pouch, a sound snapped through the quiet: a branch cracking sharply behind him. Havyn's heart lurched. He slowly rose to his feet, scanning the dense foliage for any sign of movement.

From behind a thick clump of ferns, a figure emerged. It was a young woman, no older than Selene, but with an air of quiet determination in her eyes. She wore a hooded cloak of deep green, blending almost perfectly with the forest shadows. Her gaze met his—alert, cautious, yet not hostile.

"Who's there?" Havyn called softly, hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.

The woman hesitated before stepping forward. "I mean you no harm," she said in a clear, measured voice. "I've been tracking disturbances in these woods… something unnatural has been stirring here." She paused, glancing at the bundle in his hand. "That creeper root—are you gathering it for the herbalist at Cinderbrook?"

Havyn's eyes narrowed slightly. "I am. And who might you be?"

She inclined her head respectfully. "My name is Liora. I am a healer, though not from Cinderbrook. I serve a small community on the eastern edge of the forest. Recently, we have been plagued by odd occurrences—strange lights, eerie sounds, even whispers in the wind. I've been sent to investigate. I did not expect to find anyone else here seeking the same herb."

Havyn relaxed a fraction, though his guard remained raised. "Trouble seems to follow us all these days. I'm Havyn, and… I'm gathering this for Eve. I can spare a moment—what have you seen?"

Liora glanced around the glade as if checking for eavesdroppers. "At dusk, I noticed lights flickering among the trees—like will-o'-the-wisps, but darker, more malevolent. And then there were the sounds… voices that shouldn't be there. They whispered of old debts and curses." Her eyes met his with a seriousness that cut through the morning mist. "I believe something is amiss with the natural order here. The forest is in pain."

Havyn frowned. His own senses had indeed detected a disturbance—a slight, dissonant hum that he had brushed off as the residual effects of recent magical battles. "The woods have been unsettled since those cultists were seen near Cinderbrook. They might have done something to upset the balance."

Liora nodded. "I suspect the same. My people have long known that the forest holds ancient secrets—secrets that should not be disturbed. If dark magic is at work, it could have dire consequences." She produced a small leather pouch from within her cloak and opened it to reveal several vials containing a shimmering, greenish liquid. "I've been collecting samples. They're infused with raw natural energy, but also with a hint of something foul, like tainted blood."

Havyn looked at her intently. "You think it's connected to the Daughters of the Abyss?"

Liora's eyes darkened. "There are rumors. I have heard whispers of a cult that seeks to harness the power of the Abyss—using forbidden rites to tap into forces beyond mortal ken. They say that when such magic is unleashed, the natural world suffers. Trees wither, streams run dry, and the very land trembles." She paused, studying Havyn's face. "And your friend… the one marked by that dark legacy—she may be a target for their twisted designs."

Havyn's grip on his pouch tightened. He recalled the horror of the cavern, the leader's cold words, and the way Selene's eyes had filled with terror at the thought of her own destiny. "It sounds like we're both in more danger than we realized," he said. "I'm gathering this root because Eve needs it for her remedies. But if the forest is dying, then we have a bigger problem."

Liora's expression softened. "I am heading to a sacred grove not far from here—a place where the forest still remembers its ancient magic. If we can reach it, perhaps we can find a way to cleanse the corruption. But I cannot do it alone." She stepped closer, her eyes earnest. "Will you help me?"

Havyn hesitated only a moment. "I'll help. I owe Selene my life. And if there's a way to stop these dark forces, then I'll see it through."

Liora smiled faintly, relief mingling with determination. "Thank you. We should hurry before dusk, when the unnatural lights grow stronger."

Together, they retraced their steps out of the glade. Havyn secured the white creeper root in his pouch, ensuring it was safe. As they moved deeper into the forest, the morning gradually gave way to a hazy noon. The air was heavy with humidity, and the once-familiar chirrups of birds had dimmed into an eerie quiet, as if the woods were holding their breath.

A Trek Toward the Sacred Grove

Liora led the way along a barely visible trail, her feet moving with the practiced ease of one accustomed to navigating wild, uncharted paths. Havyn followed closely, every sense alert. The path twisted through dense thickets, where shafts of light occasionally broke through the canopy to reveal ancient tree trunks draped in moss and lichen.

The forest here was different—older, more primeval. The air vibrated with an almost tangible magic, the kind that could heal or harm depending on the heart of the one who touched it. Havyn felt the pulse of the earth, a deep resonance that seemed to sing of lost ages. But intertwined with that natural song was a discordant note—an undercurrent of corruption that made his skin crawl.

After an hour's trek, they reached a clearing unlike any Havyn had seen before. Towering trees formed a natural cathedral, their trunks thick and gnarled. In the center lay a small, circular pool of water, crystal clear and undisturbed. Around the pool, the ground was carpeted with soft moss and delicate wildflowers. The air here was cool, almost reverent, and the forest seemed to whisper in voices both ancient and wise.

"This is it," Liora said softly. "The sacred grove."

Havyn stepped forward, awe mingling with caution. He knelt by the pool, dipping a hand into the water. It was cool and refreshing, free of the taint he'd sensed in other parts of the forest. "It feels… pure," he murmured.

Liora nodded. "This grove is a place of healing. The natural magic here is strong and untainted. If the corruption in the woods is spreading, this grove should stand as a beacon of balance. But if our dark friends have reached even this place… then all is lost."

They sat in silence for several minutes, the only sound the gentle lapping of water against the mossy bank. Havyn closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the grove. He thought of Selene—the terror in her eyes, the burden of her mark—and felt a fierce determination rising within him. They had come too far to let darkness win.

"I need to send word back to Cinderbrook," Havyn said at last, opening his eyes. "If I can get a sample of this pure water and some of these herbs, perhaps Eve can mix something to counter the corruption in the wilds. And maybe Harwick will know more about these disappearances."

Liora smiled. "I will take a sample as well. Knowledge of the natural energies here might give us clues on how to cleanse the rest of the forest—and perhaps weaken the grip of those cultists."

They gathered what they could: a small vial of the pool's water, a few handfuls of a rare blue flower that only grew in the grove's shadow, and a cluster of delicate ferns. As they worked, the grove's peace seemed to bolster their resolve. But even as they collected these precious resources, Havyn couldn't shake the feeling that unseen eyes watched from the darkness beyond the trees.

A Glimpse of the Past

On the journey back, Havyn and Liora walked in contemplative silence. The grove had awakened something in Havyn—a memory, perhaps, of ancient druidic lore passed down in whispers. He recalled old stories of a time when the forest was whole and vibrant, when magic was woven into the very fabric of nature. Now, that magic was under threat.

"I've heard tales," Havyn said quietly, "of a great order of druids who once safeguarded these woods. They had the power to speak with trees and command the elements. If only we could find even a trace of their wisdom… maybe we'd know how to push back this darkness."

Liora studied him. "Sometimes, the answers lie in the old places. The grove is one such place, but there are others. Ruined stone circles, forgotten temples deep in the forest… if the cultists are trying to harness Abyssal power, they might be tapping into the same well of magic. You might be connected to it, Havyn."

He frowned. "Connected? You mean... like me, as a druid?"

She shrugged gently. "Perhaps more than you know. Your transformations, your ability to sense nature—it could be that you carry the spark of that ancient order. And Selene, with her mark, may be the missing key to unlocking that power. But that's a dangerous path to walk, one filled with secrets and sacrifices."

Havyn's thoughts turned, unbidden, to Selene—her quiet strength, the burden of her past, the way her eyes still held a glimmer of defiance despite everything. "I don't know if I'm ready for that," he admitted softly. "But I know I can't let them win. Not if it means losing her."

Liora smiled sadly. "Then your journey begins with small steps. Gather what you need, heal what's been broken, and when the time comes, seek the old places. They may hold the answers to banishing this darkness forever."

Return to Cinderbrook

Havyn eventually made his way back to Cinderbrook alone, the samples safely stowed in his pouch. The return trip was quieter; the forest seemed to have settled, or perhaps he was simply too lost in thought to notice its earlier disquiet. When he reached the village, dusk was falling, the sky painted with hues of deep purple and burnt orange.

Selene was waiting near the workshop, her face drawn but resolute. She managed a tired smile when she saw him. "Did you get what you needed?"

"I did," he replied, pulling out the vial of pure water and the small bunch of blue flowers. "And I met someone—a healer from the eastern woods named Liora. She's looking into the strange occurrences in the forest. I think she might have some answers about what's happening out there."

Selene's eyes widened. "Answers… that might be worth something. Tell me, did she say anything about the cultists?"

Havyn's expression darkened. "She believes they're linked to ancient magic—magic that predates even the old witch coven that was supposedly wiped out long ago. There's talk of ruined stone circles and temples that harness the energy of the Abyss. It sounds like they're trying to tap into forces that should remain undisturbed."

Selene's fingers curled around her cloak. "And if they succeed… what then?"

Havyn looked into her eyes. "Then the forest will rot from within, and everyone—every living thing—will suffer. But we have a chance. We have this grove's purity to work with, and perhaps if we can combine it with what Liora knows, we can reverse the tide."

For a long moment, they stood in silence as the final light of day faded. The village, with its modest houses and weary inhabitants, seemed a small island of humanity amid a sea of looming darkness. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope—a fragile resolve—that they could fight back.

Selene squeezed his hand. "What's our next move?"

Havyn met her gaze, determination hardening his voice. "We rest tonight and gather our strength. Tomorrow, we'll take the samples to Eve, then try to learn more about these ancient sites. And I'll send word to Liora—see if she's willing to meet in Cinderbrook. If we can find even one clue to the old druid order or a way to weaken the cult's grip, we have a chance."

She nodded, her eyes reflecting both hope and sorrow. "And if they come for us?"

"Then we fight." He smiled grimly. "Together."

As darkness settled over Cinderbrook, Havyn and Selene retreated to their makeshift shelter at the old workshop. Outside, a low wind carried whispers from the forest. In their hearts, both knew that the battle against the Abyss—and the cultists who sought to control its power—had only just begun.