Dark Whisperer

Thorn pushed forward, weaving through the underbrush with a controlled speed, his focus shifting from branch to shadow as he pressed on. The memory of his warding rune—its ruined page, ink smeared in warning—tugged at him with each step. That rune had been crafted with precision, its power exact and deliberate. For it to activate without his knowledge, to warn him of something he hadn’t even felt… Impossible. Or at least, it should have been.

What could be that powerful, yet so subtle? He’d seen dark magics and creatures that lurked in shadows, but they always left some trace—a chill, a sense of being watched, the telltale prickle on the skin. Yet this time, he’d felt nothing, seen nothing. The rune had been his only warning, but of what? The memory unsettled him, a gnawing question he couldn’t shake.

He slowed his pace, a growing realization dawning on him as he scanned the forest around him. Nothing had changed since he set out. The air was still, the trees untouched, no sign of life or movement. The more he noticed, the more it struck him as… unnatural.

He came to a full stop, gaze sharp as he surveyed his surroundings. The woods were silent—not with the quiet peace of evening, but with an eerie, watchful stillness. Not a single creature stirred, not a whisper of wind, nothing to break the unnerving silence.

Where had everything gone?

Thorn moved with careful precision, his gaze fixed on the ground, scanning for even the smallest of clues. He hadn’t used magic to guide him—no shortcuts, just experience and the instinct of a seasoned tracker. Every patch of earth, every scatter of fallen leaves was worth a second glance.

His boots pressed into the damp soil with barely a sound as he crouched, his fingers brushing aside a layer of moss to reveal a faint scuff in the dirt beneath. At first glance, it could have been anything—a shift in the soil, a stray gust of wind disturbing the forest floor. But Thorn’s trained eye caught the subtle curve, the way the soil had been pushed just slightly to the side. Not wind. Movement.

He followed the hint, moving a few steps to the right and crouching again, studying the way the moss and leaves lay undisturbed. His eyes shifted from shadow to shadow, dismissing patches of earth that told him nothing, until finally, a faint impression caught his attention. Barely visible in the fading light, a shallow dip pressed into the soil, smaller than his palm and faint, almost erased by time.

Thorn leaned in, his fingers tracing the faint lines, piecing them together with practiced ease. Animal tracks—light, hurried, fading into the distance. But these tracks didn’t meander or cross over each other in the chaotic pattern typical of forest creatures. No, these tracks were deliberate, moving in the same direction, almost as if guided by an invisible line.

He narrowed his eyes, following the impressions as they angled away from the lake. There were more tracks now, faint but unmistakable, all converging toward the deeper woods. His fingers hovered above each depression, noting the hurried imprints, the urgency etched into each step, as if every creature had fled from the same unseen threat.

Strange.

He straightened, the question still gnawing at him. Why had every creature, big and small, left? The lake should have been a natural source of life, especially with the first warmth of spring settling in, but instead, it seemed the very heart of this emptiness.

Lifting his gaze, Thorn focused on the canopy above. Dense branches wove together, their thick leaves casting dark shadows over the forest floor. He studied them closely, letting his eyes trace each branch, each cluster of leaves, noting their undisturbed nature. Not a single leaf had been chewed, no twigs snapped from nesting birds, no movements of insects crawling along the bark. The upper branches were as empty as the forest floor.

Nothing up there, either, he realized, his jaw tightening. The entire forest had become a hollow shell, untouched, undisturbed, as though every bit of life had been scrubbed clean.

Thorn straightened, casting one last sweeping glance over the ground before him. There had to be something—anything—that would give him a clearer picture of what was happening here. He let his gaze drift up, studying the horizon. High ground. Maybe that was what he needed—a new vantage, a wider view that might reveal more than the close confines of the forest could.

His eyes settled on the ridge to the east, a dark line of trees set against the deepening afternoon sky. Thorn turned without hesitation, his strides quick and sure as he made his way up the incline, feeling the underbrush thicken around him with every step. The incline grew steeper, the moss underfoot slick, but Thorn’s movements remained fluid, every step careful, deliberate. He wound his way upward, feeling the world open as the canopy began to thin, small gaps revealing glimpses of sky until, finally, he reached the top.

The day had deepened into early evening, casting the ridge in amber light that slanted over the hills and stained the lake below in hues of dusky gold. Thorn’s breath caught as he took in the view—the lake stretched out in all directions, far more expansive than he’d realized. Almost perfectly circular, its still surface was bordered by gentle slopes of green, fading into the horizon like an enormous, silent mirror.

Further to the northeast, the hills parted, revealing a narrow inlet that snaked its way through the rocky terrain, eventually meeting the distant glint of the sea. Thorn’s eyes followed the silvery line, piecing together what Daithi had described. That inlet was their only link to the ocean; saltwater had to flow into the lake from there.

But he could see the risks now, standing from this height. The lake would be cut off through much of the winter and well into spring. The slopes… He let his gaze sweep over them, noticing how the hills rose steeply along the river, creating natural traps where the snow would pile thick and deep.

In harsher years, it was easy to imagine the lake locked in isolation for months on end, leaving the town to depend solely on whatever fish they could pull from its depths. The inlet might be the town’s lifeline, but it was one they couldn’t always count on.

He took in a slow breath, his thoughts turning to the fishermen. Most wouldn’t risk that narrow, treacherous journey to the sea in winter, not with the inlet blocked and icy waters waiting on either side. And yet, he knew men who would have tried, pushing through the frigid cold to bring back a single catch, risking their lives for a town that had no other choice. It was no wonder Daithi had spoken of the lake’s importance. This wasn’t about abundance; it was survival.

But as his gaze drifted to the mouth of the inlet, something else caught his attention. There, resting in shadow at the edge of the channel, was a massive glacier, its pale, jagged form wedged against the rocks. Thorn narrowed his eyes, watching as faint light played over its surface, casting sharp reflections off the ice. It was enormous, larger than anything he’d expected to find so close to the sea, and yet it sat there, nearly blocking the inlet like a frozen sentinel.

He frowned. The glacier looked solid, firmly wedged in place, but something about it felt… precarious. Why would it look so unsteady? he wondered, a chill creeping over him despite the distance.

Thorn’s gaze lingered on the glacier for a long moment, the question heavy in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this, too, was connected—that whatever strange force had hollowed out the forest, whatever had triggered his rune, was woven into this frozen mass at the edge of the lake. But how or why, he couldn’t yet say.

With a final glance, he let his gaze drift to the town itself, lying on the far side of the lake. From this height, the full shape of Halrest revealed itself, the design etched into the land with such precision it looked almost unnatural, like a starburst carved by something beyond human hands. Five paths radiated from the town’s centre, stretching in perfect lines up the gentle slope of the hillside to form a grand semi-circle.

The symmetry took Thorn by surprise, and he felt an unexpected chill settle over him. He hadn’t noticed it before—not with the winter snow covering much of the ground. It was only now, as the first warmth of spring melted the snow, that the layout was exposed, the careful lines and shapes etched into the earth like a long-buried secret unearthed by time.

As he looked closer, he saw that each stone path was more than a road—it was part of a larger, deliberate design. The buildings between these paths were clustered in careful, almost reverent arrangements, their stone walls casting soft reflections in the dying light. The structures followed the land’s natural rise and fall yet seemed bound to a purpose that felt as old as the hills themselves.

Thorn could feel the weight of it—the intention behind every path, every foundation, as though the town was a monument, a piece of something larger and more ancient than the people who now called it home. He traced the paths with his eyes, watching as each line converged at one focal point: a large building that sat at the lake’s edge, shaped like a pearl. Its smooth, polished surface gleamed faintly in the fading sunlight, blending seamlessly with the water and earth.

His breath hitched at the sight. There was something both beautiful and unsettling about it, a presence that made his skin prickle as he took it in. The building, the town’s layout, even the lake itself—all of it pointed to something greater, something hidden just beneath the surface. A purpose he didn’t yet understand, but one that filled him with a mix of awe and unease.

As he stood there, awestruck by the grandeur of the scene, Thorn’s mind raced. This wasn’t just a town—it was a place of power. The layout, the lake, the saltwater flowing in from the sea… everything felt deliberate, as if the town was shaped to channel or contain something far greater than mere human life.

And then he saw it.

On the far side of the lake, almost hidden by the sloping hills, a small, rough campsite nestled between two ancient oaks. Thorn blinked, narrowing his eyes. It was little more than a crude shelter—a tent made of scavenged wood, the roof sagging under its own weight. It was out of place, isolated from the town and far from any visible path.

His heart quickened. Someone had been there.

But why?