Legacy of the Forsaken - The Choosen's Call

It all began with the vines. Lina had wandered just beyond the flickering glow of the fire after finishing her evening meal. She didn't go far—only to the place where the trees arched inward, forming natural gates that seemed to beckon her closer. Her purpose was clear: she was gathering herbs to add to her journal. In Hollowmere, plants grew in strange, new ways. Some species looked familiar but twisted into unfamiliar shapes, while others seemed entirely different from anything she'd seen before. She noted how everything here seemed to grow with a wild confidence, more untamed and wiser than in other places. The air around her was thick with the scent of blooming plants, and she knew this was a land where nature refused to be tamed. But tonight, the plants felt different—more tense and somehow aware. An uneasy pulse flickered through the greenery, as if the landscape itself was holding its breath.

Lina knelt beside a fern with delicate, lacy leaves, which looked beautiful but had suddenly curled tightly shut, as if scared or unwell. She reached out carefully, almost hesitant, expecting it to open again. But just as her fingers touched the plant's frilled edges, the fern responded. It recoiled sharply, pulling in on itself with a quick jerk, like it sensed her touch before she made contact. The stem shrank back, twisting away, as if it were alive and afraid of her. She froze, her hand still hovering near the plant. Her heart pounded a little faster.

There was no wind to explain the movement. No rustling leaves, no shifting branches. The world was dead silent, except for the steady thump of her own heartbeat. An odd, faint hum seemed to ripple in the air around her, growing stronger by the second. It was like the ground itself was vibrating, low and slow, with no clear source or reason for it. The sensation was strange, almost impossible to pin down. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something shift—something moving just beyond her line of sight.

It wasn't an animal or a person. There was no obvious shape, only a shadow that flickered and flickered again, threatening to vanish. She turned her head sharply, trying to catch sight of whatever it was, but whatever she saw had disappeared into the darkness. The trees remained still, holding their secrets close. The only thing left was an uneasy silence, more oppressive than before. She stared into the shadows, realizing something unseen was watching, waiting, hiding just out of reach.

Meanwhile, back at camp, Varyon was seated near the outermost ring of tall standing stones. He twirled a small knife between his fingers, the metal gleaming faintly in the flickering firelight. Most of the group had already gone to bed, retreating to their tents or the shelter of the trees. Only Mira was left awake, sketching in her notebook, capturing the faint outlines of the strange landscape. Ash, lying flat on the dirt, had spread out as if dead, enjoying a nap like a careless corpse. The fire burned low, casting shadows that danced lazily across the stones. The flames flickered weakly, too weak in Varyon's eyes. The fire needed more wood, more life to brighten this place, but it hung on, struggling to stay alive.

Varyon's gaze shifted toward the woods beyond the camp. His eyes narrowed as he watched the shadows there. His own shadow on the stone behind him flickered in an unnatural way, stretching and twisting with no apparent cause. He looked up from his seat. The fire itself no longer moved. The flames showed no signs of shifting—no sudden gust, no flicker of wind. But his shadow had twitched again, this time with purpose. It didn't look like something blocked its light. It felt more like someone—or something—was pulling at it, trying to drag it away or make it move differently. The hairs on his arms prickled.

Without thinking, he pushed himself to his feet, heart pounding faster. A strange feeling grew in his chest, a mix of curiosity and unease. "Okay," he muttered under his breath. "That's just weird."

Ash, still lazily lying in the grass nearby, opened one eye and looked at him. "What's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost," he said casually, a faint teasing tone in his voice.

Varyon didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked back at the shadows, trying to puzzle out what he'd just seen. "Did the shadows seem off to you today?" he asked quietly.

Ash rolled onto his side, stretching out with a faint sigh. "Everything here feels off," he said. "That's pretty much what keeps this place interesting."

Varyon shook his head. "No, I mean—bad off. Like, something's wrong with how the shadows behave. They're acting strange, as if they're alive in a different way."

Ash sat up a little, rubbing his face. "Yeah, I get that. But that's part of this place. Nothing's normal. The shadows are just another weird feature of Hollowmere."

Varyon frowned. "No, it's more than that. I've seen shadows do strange things before, but today, they felt wrong, almost unnatural. Like they weren't just shadows, but something more. And I swear, I saw mine twitch, not because of the fire, but as if someone—something—was controlling it."

Ash tossed a small stone in the air, catching it easily. "You're overthinking," he said casually. "It's just the dark, shadows, wind, or whatever. It's always weird here."

Varyon stared at him, silent. His mind raced through possibilities. Something was changing—something in the shadows, in the air. No matter how much they brushed it off, the strange movement of his shadow left him uneasy. He knew that the camp's quiet, the woods' dark, the whispers in the air—they all hid secrets. But tonight, it felt like those secrets were just waiting to be told, and he wasn't sure if they were friendly or dangerous. He clenched his fists, trying to ignore the growing sense that something was watching them all closely, lurking just beyond what they could see.

Mira was still focused on her drawing, her pencil moving quietly across the paper as her mind drifted into the shapes and shadows she was creating. When Lina finally returned, she looked different—quiet and pale, with her shoulders slightly hunched. She moved quietly, almost afraid to disturb the silence hanging in the air, and settled down beside Mira without a word. Her eyes flicked toward the forest beyond their camp, and her voice was barely above a whisper. "Something's moving out there," she said softly, her tone cautious and steady, as if worried that any loud sound might anger whatever was lurking in the trees.

Mira listened, then nodded slowly, her expression calm but alert. "I know," she replied quietly. There was a weight to her words, as if she could feel what Lina sensed but didn't quite want to admit. Lina's brow furrowed in concern. "You saw something?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.

Mira shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "No, I didn't see anything," she explained, "but I felt it. The forest is listening now. I can feel the quiet watching, waiting." She paused, fingers brushing the edge of her sketchbook, which was filled with dark, detailed lines. Her latest drawing was unlike anything she remembered starting, and it seemed to hum with a strange energy. The image showed a large tree split open in the middle, guts spilling inside, and behind its hollow trunk, what looked like a pair of glowing eyes peering through the gap. Her hand had drawn itself without her noticing, capturing something instinctively, as if her mind had already seen it waiting in the shadows.

Rylan had been silent all evening. Since dinner, he hadn't spoken a word. He sat slightly apart from the others, with a thick book resting on his knees, closed and untouched. His face was calm but distant, a warm glow from the fire flickering across his features. The book, though still warm from his touch earlier, had remained shut—no attempt to open it further. It wasn't fear that kept him from turning the pages again; rather, a quiet desire to do so. A part of him yearned to open it, to read what secrets it held. It was as if something in his mind pulled him toward it, a strange ache that grew stronger with each passing moment. The feeling was not unlike a key fitting into a lock, whispering that the time to open it was near, that some hidden truth might finally reveal itself.

That night, everything changed. The usual sounds—wind rushing through the trees, the crackling of the fire, even the distant call of nighttime creatures—faded into silence. Not a breeze stirred, and the fire's glow was ghostly rather than lively. Outside their small camp, a singular crack split the earth. It was thin and sharp, almost perfectly silent as if the ground had been cut clean open. This was no ordinary crack; it hadn't opened in a hurry or with a rumble but had simply appeared, almost as if the earth itself was stretching after centuries of stillness. The crack was near one of the ancient standing stones, a relic they believed marked some forgotten boundary. And now, it leaned slightly to one side, as if it was about to topple, its roots shifting beneath it.

Whatever had caused it felt deep and unseen. It was as if something beneath the stones had shifted, something waiting for the right moment to surface again after ages of silence. Open air remained still and heavy, weighed down by a strange tension in the night. The ground, which had been solid and unmoving for generations, seemed to breathe and stretch—an awakening that hinted Hollowmere was stretching after a long, slumbering silence. The landscape seemed to hold its breath, waiting for whatever was stirring below to finally come into the light. The silence in the air felt sharp, suddenly thick with unspoken fears and ancient secrets. It was as if the very world was holding its breath, daring to disturb the calm it had maintained for so long.