The village of Vareth lay under a sky choked with ash, its streets choked with the stench of decay. Kaela’s boots crunched over brittle grass as she knelt beside the well, her fingers brushing the rim of the iron bucket. The water had turned to sludge, thick and black, swirling with something that pulsed like a heartbeat. She pulled back, her breath shallow. The blight had come without warning—no storm, no fire, just a slow rot that gnawed at the earth and the people who lived on it.
“It’s the forest,” Tharn muttered, his voice a rasp of wind through dry leaves. The old hermit stood at the edge of the clearing, his cloak tattered, his face etched with lines deeper than any river. “The Eldenwood’s breath is sour. It’s been this way since the moon turned red.” He gestured to the trees beyond the village, their branches twisted into gnarled fingers. Kaela had never seen them like this—no rustling, no whisper of wind. Just silence, thick and suffocating.
She didn’t believe in omens, not after years of watching the village’s elders preach caution while the land withered. But the look in Tharn’s eyes—hollow, as if he’d seen the end of the world—made her stomach tighten. “What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tharn exhaled, his breath clouding in the cold air. “The Ember of Eryndor. It’s the only thing that can still the forest’s hunger.” He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. “But it’s buried deep, where the trees remember names we’ve forgotten. You’ll have to go there, Kaela. And you’ll have to bring it back before the rot reaches the heart of the village.”
The words hung between them, heavy as stone. Kaela had never left Vareth, never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. But the thought of her mother’s cough, of her brother’s hollow cheeks, pushed her forward. “I’ll go,” she said. “But I need more than stories.”
Tharn nodded, his expression grim. “Then you’ll need this.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal, its cover cracked with age. “It’s the last record of the Ember’s path. But be warned—what’s written here isn’t meant for the weak. The forest doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
Kaela took the journal, her fingers brushing the worn edges. The air around her felt heavier, as if the world itself was holding its breath. She didn’t know what awaited her in the depths of Eldenwood, but she knew one thing: the blight wouldn’t wait. And neither would she.
—
The forest swallowed her whole.
Kaela moved through the trees, their trunks towering like sentinels, their bark cracked and blackened. The journal lay open in her hands, its pages brittle, the ink faded but legible. Tharn’s notes were cryptic, filled with symbols that twisted like living things. She traced one with her finger, feeling a faint warmth beneath her touch. The forest was watching.
A branch snapped somewhere behind her. Kaela froze, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. She turned slowly, her hand drifting to the hilt of the knife at her belt. Nothing but shadows, but the air had changed—thicker, colder. She pressed forward, her boots sinking into the mossy ground. The journal’s words grew more erratic, the symbols more jagged. Something was wrong.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said, low and edged with rust.
Kaela spun, her knife flashing. A figure emerged from the undergrowth—a man, or something that had once been one. His skin was pale as bone, his eyes hollow voids. He moved like a shadow, his limbs too long, his mouth a thin line of black. “The forest doesn’t take visitors,” he said, his voice a rasp.
Kaela’s grip tightened. “Who are you?”
The figure tilted his head, as if considering the question. “A keeper. A reminder. The Ember is not for you.” He took a step forward, and the ground beneath her feet trembled. “Leave now, or be claimed by the roots.”
“I don’t scare easily,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Tell me where the Ember is.”
The figure’s mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile. “You think it’s a thing? A gem, a relic? It’s a song, a memory. And you’re not ready to hear it.” He raised a hand, and the trees around them groaned, their branches twisting in protest. “Go back, child. Before the forest swallows you whole.”
Kaela didn’t move. She could feel the weight of the journal in her hands, the pull of something ancient and waiting. “I’m not a child,” she said, her voice steady. “And I’m not afraid.”
The figure’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’ll die like the others.” He lunged.
Kaela rolled to the side, the blade of her knife flashing as she slashed at his arm. It met flesh, but the cut closed almost instantly, leaving only a faint scar. The figure laughed, a sound like splintering wood. “You’re wasting your time,” he said, circling her. “The forest will take you.”
She didn’t have time to think. The journal’s pages fluttered in her hands, the symbols shifting, rearranging. A name surfaced, etched in ink that shimmered like fire. “Eryndor,” she whispered. “The Ember of Eryndor.”
The figure froze. His expression shifted, something flickering in his hollow eyes. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s not a thing to be taken. It’s a choice.”
Kaela didn’t hesitate. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the journal, the pulse of the forest around her. “Then I choose,” she said. “I choose to save my village.”
The figure let out a long, shuddering breath. “So be it.” He stepped back, his form dissolving into mist. “Follow the song, child. But be warned—the forest doesn’t forgive the unworthy.”
Kaela opened her eyes, the journal still clutched in her hands. The trees around her were different now—less hostile, more watchful. She turned and pressed forward, the path ahead uncertain but clear. The Ember of Eryndor awaited, and she would find it.
—
The heart of Eldenwood was a place of silence.
Kaela stepped into a clearing where the trees stood in perfect circles, their trunks etched with symbols that glowed faintly in the dim light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something older, something that made her skin prickle. At the center of the clearing stood a pedestal of black stone, and atop it rested a single ember—small, flickering, and impossibly bright.
She approached slowly, her breath shallow. The ember pulsed in time with her heartbeat, as if it were alive. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above its surface. A warmth spread through her palm, and the world around her shifted.
A vision surged through her—of a time long past, of a people who had once lived in harmony with the forest. Of a great betrayal, a theft of the Ember’s power, and the resulting curse that had plagued the land. The forest had not forgotten. It had waited, patient and cruel, for the day when the Ember would be returned.
Kaela gasped, stumbling back. The vision faded, leaving her trembling. The ember still burned, but now it felt different—less a relic, more a promise. She reached out again, this time with both hands, and the ember lifted from the pedestal, floating into her grasp.
The ground beneath her shuddered. The trees groaned, their branches swaying as if in recognition. A deep, resonant sound filled the clearing—a song, ancient and powerful. Kaela closed her eyes, feeling the Ember’s warmth seep into her bones.
When she opened them again, the clearing was still. The trees stood tall and silent, their glow dimmed but not gone. The Ember pulsed in her hands, steady and bright. She had done it.
The journey back was longer than she expected. The forest no longer felt hostile, but it was watchful, its presence a constant hum in the back of her mind. She followed the path Tharn had described, the journal’s pages now blank, as if the story had been written and erased in one breath.
When she finally emerged from the trees, the village of Vareth lay before her, its rooftops battered but intact. The air was different—cleaner, lighter. The blight had receded, leaving behind a silence that felt almost sacred. Kaela stepped into the village, the Ember still clutched in her hands.
Her mother’s voice called out to her, filled with relief and wonder. “Kaela!” Her brother ran to her, his face pale but alive. The villagers gathered around, their expressions a mix of awe and gratitude.
“You did it,” her mother whispered, tears glinting in her eyes. “You brought the Ember back.”
Kaela looked down at the ember, now glowing softly in her palm. It was smaller than she remembered, but no less powerful. She felt its presence like a thread connecting her to something vast and ancient.
“Not alone,” she said, her voice steady. “The forest helped.”
The villagers murmured, some nodding in understanding, others still wary. Kaela knew the story would spread, that the Ember’s return would be remembered for generations. But for now, she had what she needed—her village, her family, and the knowledge that the forest had chosen her.
As the sun set over Vareth, casting long shadows across the fields, Kaela stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the Ember’s glow fade into the night. The forest’s song still echoed in her mind, a reminder of what she had done and what might come next. The Ember of Eryndor was safe, but the world was vast, and its secrets were far from exhausted.
And Kaela, for the first time, felt ready to face whatever came next.
