“I don’t know what happened. I thought I was doing well and then suddenly it’s like I’m back at square one…

  ….......

  My writing? It’s…getting better. It’s definitely helping me recall the dreams here. And I, uh…started reading them aloud. I only have an audience of one, but she’s always eager to hear more stories about her favorite superhero. I’m always eager to tell them.”

  “HELP! SOMEONE! HELP! PLEASE! PLEASE, WE NEED HELP!”

  Ariel floated in a heavy darkness, her thoughts drifting in and out of reach as she tried desperately to hold onto the voice that was screaming in her mind. It was as though her awareness had been wrapped in gauze, muffling everything, until a thin seam of light pried it open. She blinked hard, eyes stinging as shapes resolved slowly around her, and the voice faded into something less than a memory once more.

  She lay on something soft—not the damp soil of the forest, but a bed of woven fibers that cradled her aching body. Warmth wrapped around her, and with it the faint scent of smoke mingled with bitter herbs. She turned her head and saw rough walls rising in a circle, made of bundled reeds and thatch. Above, daylight filtered through gaps in the roof, laying pale stripes across the dirt floor. A small fire hissed in a pit at the center, shadows sliding across the hut’s curved walls.

  Pain dragged her back into herself. Her stomach throbbed like it had been struck by a battering ram. She pressed her hand against it and sat up slowly, her breath catching. The memories rushed back, unbidden and jagged.

  The boar. Massive, bristling, eyes like pits of tar. That gaze burned in her mind, hollow and merciless, as it thundered toward her. She remembered the panic, the weight of inevitability and then... the impossible: Vines lashing out, wrapping, pulling, striking. Her own hand lifted, her own voice cracked with a single word, and the vines had obeyed. They constricted until the beast fell silent.

  Ariel froze, clutching her middle. “No,” she whispered, the word shivering in the firelight. “That can’t be real. It can’t.” She shook her head, hair falling into her eyes. “Vines don’t listen. They don’t… save people.”

  She sat in stillness, the fire’s glow flickering over her pale face. Every breath made her ribs ache, but the greater weight pressed deeper: the forest had answered her, and she could not make sense of it. Nothing she knew of the world could explain what she had seen—and worse, what she had done.

  Her hands tightened on her knees. She couldn’t sit here, not without knowing who had brought her in, or why. Bracing herself against the woven bed, she rose shakily to her feet. Her body protested, but she ignored it, forcing herself to cross the hut. A reed curtain hung in place of a door. Ariel hesitated only a moment before pushing it aside.

  The air outside was cooler, fresh with the scent of wet earth and woodsmoke. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. What she saw made her breath catch.

  A village. Small, quiet, nested within the trees. Huts like the one she had woken in dotted the clearing, their roofs rising like thatched shells. Smoke curled lazily from vents in the rooftops, drifting toward the canopy above. The ground was beaten earth, paths worn between the dwellings where figures moved with a strange, unhurried grace.

  They were not human—at least not entirely. Tall, willowy, with skin that seemed to hold a faint sheen, as though touched by moonlight even in the day. Their features were sharp yet serene, their movements fluid, as though each gesture carried the weight of ritual. Some had hair like spun silver, others shades of deep forest green or coppery gold, all of it long and loose. Their eyes shone faintly, catching light like water. They wore simple garments woven from fibers Ariel couldn’t place, patterned subtly with curling motifs that reminded her of vines and leaves.

  Ariel stood rooted in the doorway, staring. Her thoughts scrambled. They’re not… human. What are they? Elves? Spirits? Am I dreaming all this? Her stomach knotted as she watched a pair pass by, their voices lilting in a language she didn’t understand. The sound was melodic, almost too perfect, and it made her feel suddenly, painfully out of place.

  One by one, the figures noticed her. Movements slowed, conversations faltered. Some bowed their heads with reverence, others bent to one knee as though in devotion, while still others simply stood, eyes wide with open curiosity. The air shifted with their attention, the quiet heavy with expectation.

  From among them, an older figure stepped forward. His hair was pale silver, his bearing steady, his eyes bright with wisdom. He paused before her and inclined his head in a graceful bow. When he spoke, his voice was deep and calm, carrying the weight of both greeting and respect.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Welcome,” he said. “I am Fornaskr.”

  Ariel’s throat worked, but no words came at first. Finally, she managed a shaky whisper. “I… I don’t even know who I am.” Her voice cracked with the admission. “Where… where is this? What is this place?”

  Fornaskr’s eyes softened. He shook his head slowly. “No one remembers what this place is called. Not anymore. Names fade, just as memories fade. And lately, lost memories… they are becoming more common than they should be.”

  Her heart lurched at that. “So it’s not just me?”

  “You are not alone in your confusion.” He gestured toward the village with an open hand. “Come. Walk with me. There is much you must see, and much I can tell you.”

  Ariel hesitated, then stepped forward, falling in beside him. The villagers parted as they passed, some still bowing, others whispering softly in tones she couldn’t understand.

  As they walked, Fornaskr spoke, his words slow and heavy. “This land was whole once, bright and alive. But that changed not long ago. Something vile arrived—a shadow that carried with it four acolytes. They began draining the color, the light, the very life from all they touched. The ground cracked, the sky faltered, and the land itself fractured. Where there was once one, now there are pieces, drifting, broken.”

  Ariel listened, silent, her eyes sweeping the village that looked so alive even under the weight of his story. Her stomach twisted, uneasy with the thought of the forest’s fading vibrance and the monstrous boar’s empty black eyes. She hugged her arms tighter around herself, following him as he led her deeper into the heart of the village.

  Fornaskr’s gaze drifted toward the trees that ringed the clearing. “This village and the forest surrounding it… they are the last safe haven of my people, the Sylari. We endure here, because our guardian protects us still—the Wisp of the Woods.”

  Ariel’s brow furrowed. “Who… who are they?”

  “A spirit,” Fornaskr said, his tone reverent. “A great and powerful spirit, whose strength alone defended this small island from being swallowed in the ruin. The attack you saw the signs of—it drained much of the Wisp’s power. They gave nearly all to shield us. And now the edges of our sanctuary begin to wither, the color and the light ebbing away as the shadow presses closer.”

  They walked on in silence for a time, the weight of his words pressing heavy in the air. Ariel tried to form questions but found her throat too tight. She could only listen, her eyes darting to every tree as though the darkness he spoke of might be creeping there already.

  At last, the path through the village opened onto a wide square. And at its center, rising high above the rooftops, stood a statue. Fornaskr slowed his steps as they approached the broad back of the figure carved in stone, moss creeping along its base like an offering.

  Ariel’s eyes followed the statue upward. They walked around the side of it, and as she reached the front, her breath caught. Her eyes went wide. The statue was of a short, heavy woman with long, wavy hair. Vines in a double helix encircled her from the ground up to her waist, carved so carefully they seemed to twist in motion. The woman’s face and shape were eerily familiar: the wavy hair, the curvy form. Ariel couldn’t ignore that she was looking at a graven image of herself.

  Her knees weakened, and she turned to Fornaskr. His expression was solemn as he gave a small nod. “Now you understand why some of my people showed you reverence when you stepped outside.” He lifted his hand toward the figure. “This statue has stood here since time eternal, bearing an inscription both powerful and puzzling.”

  Drawn forward despite herself, Ariel stepped closer. Her gaze locked on the weathered words etched into the stone at its base. She read them aloud, voice barely more than a whisper: “She Who Commands the Forest: We kneel to the fire that burns inside.”

  The words hung in the air like a weight. She stared at them, chest tight, unable to breathe for a moment.

  Fornaskr let the silence linger before he spoke again. “This statue is our oldest memory. It was preserved, intentionally, by the Wisp of the Woods. Many truths were lost, but not this. Not her.” His tone darkened. “When you were found in the forest, unconscious beside a boarkin strangled to death by no natural force, doubts rose. But there are those who believe you are She Who Commands the Forest.”

  Ariel’s mind raced, thoughts clashing and scattering as she stared up at the stone likeness. The curve of the face, the heaviness of the body, the wavy fall of hair—it was her. Or something that had always been waiting for her.

  Finally, she tore her gaze from the statue and looked at Fornaskr. “What about you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What do you believe?”

  Fornaskr’s eyes softened with something that was almost sorrow. He turned back to the statue, lips pressed thin. After a long pause, he smiled weakly. “I believe,” he said, “that we need a miracle. Or this world is doomed.”

  Ariel turned her eyes back to the inscription, her mind churning. The words She Who Commands the Forest echoed in her thoughts, stirring memories she couldn’t ignore. She saw, again, the vines whipping out to snatch her from the path of the charging boar, the way they had slammed into the beast, coiled around it, and tightened until it fell. She remembered her own voice, weak but clear, saying Stop!—and the vines had obeyed. Just like when she had begged for a way out, and the forest itself had opened a path.

  Her pulse quickened as she looked back at Fornaskr. “Can I… can I meet this Wisp of the Woods?”

  For the first time, his smile reached his eyes. He inclined his head and gestured for her to follow. “Yes. Come with me.”