The deeper I went, the more the forest changed.
It wasn't just the trees—though they grew taller, darker, their bark gnarled like wrinkled skin. It wasn't the silence—though that too thickened, muffling my breath and the crunch of twigs beneath my boots. It was something else. A weight. A pull behind my ribs.
As if I were walking into the belly of something ancient.
The Vale of Ancients.
I didn't know when I crossed the threshold. The old stories say the veil is invisible, but it marks you. Leaves something behind. Takes something, too.
But I kept moving. The path had long disappeared, replaced by a carpet of moss that shimmered faintly under the canopy's filtered light. Branches reached low like arms, tugging at my cloak, and the air smelled of damp earth and memory.
That's when the whispers began.
Soft. Gentle.
Like lullabies from a time I couldn't remember.
