Into the Forest of Silence

The trees changed before they even crossed the boundary.

First it was the silence—unnatural and sudden. No birds, no rustling wind, not even the distant hum of crickets. Then came the light, or lack of it. The Forest of Silence dimmed the sun as though the canopy swallowed time itself.

Luin Ardel stood at the forest’s edge, staring into the gloom. The world behind him was full of warmth and laughter. The world ahead felt ancient—watching.

He took the first step.

Within the Woods

The path vanished almost immediately. Twisted roots and moss-covered stones made every step deliberate. Daren walked just behind Luin, one hand on his sword. Mira scouted ahead, slipping between shadows like smoke. Fenric trailed near Torren, eyes wide but steady.

“What happened here?” Mira whispered after an hour. “Why is it so… wrong?”

Torren answered. “The stories say the forest used to be sacred. Elves once built temples here. When they vanished, something darker filled the space they left behind.”

Daren snorted softly. “Nature hates a vacuum.”

They camped that night in a clearing where the trees leaned away from the center, as if afraid. Luin lit a small fire with trembling fingers.

No one spoke of the dreams.

But each of them had one.

That Night

Luin dreamed of silver towers breaking under a black sky. A voice cried out—but the language was lost.

Daren saw a throne of bone and fire. At its foot: Luin, broken and burned.

Fenric heard a voice whisper his name—not Luin’s voice, not his father’s, but… familiar.

Mira awoke gasping, the image of her childhood home swallowed by vines and silence.

And Torren… Torren did not sleep.

The Ruins

By the third day, Mira spotted something through the trees—a pillar of white stone, half-swallowed by ivy. The group pushed forward, and soon more followed: crumbled archways, staircases leading nowhere, fragments of murals in moonlight hues.

They had found a city.

“What is this place?” Fenric asked, brushing moss from a carved wall.

Luin traced the markings. “It’s elven.”

Torren dropped to one knee. “This is a sanctuary. One of the last, if it’s intact.”

In the center of the ruins stood a domed structure, half-buried but untouched by rot. Its doors were sealed with runes—identical to those on the relic Luin carried.

The stone in his bag began to glow.

He placed it into the circular slot on the door.

The runes hissed.

The doors opened.

The Tomb Below

Inside was cold and breathless, like walking into forgotten time. A staircase spiraled downward, each step lined with glowing veins of crystal.

At the bottom: a circular chamber.

And in its center—suspended above a pool of silver light—was a figure.

A woman.

She was encased in crystal, long white hair flowing like silk in water. Her face serene, lips parted in sleep. Robes of starlight shimmered faintly.

Torren fell to one knee.

“A Star Elf…” he whispered. “Alive.”