The forest shifted in the early morning light, but not in the way one might expect. It wasn't louder, nor brighter, nor more alive with the sounds of awakening birds or rustling leaves. Instead, it felt older, as if it had somehow paused in its growth, as if time itself had chosen to hold its breath. The mist that drifted lazily through the air sat still, curling around broken stones and fallen branches without ever dissolving or shifting. It looked as if the very scenery had been frozen in a silent, timeless moment. Rylan looked around and thought, Perhaps the forest is waiting. Maybe it has decided to stand still, or perhaps it's trying to tell us something. The quiet seemed thicker than usual, heavy with secrets.
The group was set to spend the morning exploring and recording the southern edge of Hollowmere's ruins. They had a list of tasks: sketch the landscape, note what they saw, and try to understand the strange history buried beneath. Lina was in charge, moving through the reckoning with calm confidence. She handed out worn, well-used notebooks, their pages filled with notes from previous trips. She carefully divided the team into sections, assigning them specific parts of the ruins to focus on. She also gently reminded Ash, who tended to get carried away, to only draw what was actually present—no dragons or swords unless they appeared in the stones exactly as they were carved. Her voice was soft, but commanding, guiding them without raising it.
Ash, eager to add more fantasy to his sketches, muttered under his breath and wandered a little way off. "Define 'actual,'" he grinned, eyes already searching for a new angle for his drawing. His tone was playful, but beneath it, there was a hint of mischief—he liked pushing boundaries. He glanced at the worn stones, half wondering if he could find some hidden figure or symbol that the others might miss. Meanwhile, Mira stayed near a moss-covered pillar, her sketchbook already open, her hand resting lightly on the paper. Her gaze was distant, as if she was listening to something no one else could hear. She looked up at the canopy, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"The grove's humming," she said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was almost a whisper, yet it carried in the quiet. Rylan blinked, confused. "What is?" he asked. Mira hesitated, then shook her head. "It's the grove," she explained, voice quiet. "It's like… it's humming today. Like it's alive in some way, or maybe remembering something." She paused, then looked away, as if unsure whether she said too much. "Probably nothing," she added quickly, brushing off her words as if embarrassed.
Varyon, who was nearby, crouched down next to a small collection of standing stones arranged in a rough crescent shape. His sharp eyes were focused as he examined the stones more closely. "I found something," he said quietly. "Looks like an old drainage channel, or maybe a ritual line. It's hard to tell without more digging, but it's something. Definitely not just natural formations." He brushed dirt from his hands. His voice carried a tone of curiosity, mixed with the cautious skepticism he always used when approaching potential clues. Mira chuckled softly and nudged him. "Everything's a ritual with you," she teased lightly, a grin in her voice. Varyon shot her a quick smile, but his eyes stayed serious.
"That's because everything here feels like it remembers something," he replied, voice calm but solemn. He paused, then returned his focus to the stones, as if expecting them to reveal some deep secret if he looked hard enough. Rylan had been busy jotting down details in his notebook when his gaze shifted to something out of the ordinary. He was about halfway through describing a strange feature when he saw it—a small mound near the back of the clearing that hadn't caught his eye before. It was a low hill, covered in thick vines, and not marked on any of the guide maps Ms. Arlow handed out at the start. It looked insignificant, almost forgotten, but something about it tugged at him, sparking a quiet curiosity.
He hesitated for a moment, then reached for his pack. "Hey," he called softly, making sure not to disturb the others. "I'm going to check over there. Be right back." His voice was casual, but he felt the unusual pull of the area, like a faint echo calling him closer. The others didn't object or seem to notice his departure, lost in their own work or thoughts. Rylan moved through the damp underbrush, feeling the weight of the morning's silence pressing down on him, and pressed closer toward the little hill, wondering what secrets it might hide.
As he slowly but steadily made his way up the gentle slope, a strange sensation began to rise inside him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite explain at first, but it spread through his chest like warm water soaking into cold skin. The warmth grew deeper with every step he took, spreading outwards to his fingertips, as if his body was awakening to an unseen force. He paused for a moment at the crest of the hill and looked around, caught in a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Then he saw it — or rather, he realized what it actually was.
The "hill" beneath him wasn't really a hill at all. At first glance, it simply looked like a gentle rise in the earth, soft and unobtrusive. But as he stared more closely, the truth became clear. The shape beneath his feet was an ancient stone arch, mostly collapsed, buried beneath layers of dirt and roots. It was a relic of something long gone, hidden from plain sight. The shape of the arch formed a hollow cavity at its base, resembling the open mouth of a sleeping giant curled up in sleep. Around the edges, massive roots wound themselves like veins, snaking over stones and gripping the stones tightly, as if nature had claimed it back. The hollow space inside the roots was dark, shadowy, with a thick silence that seemed almost alive, waiting to be awakened.
Inside that hollow cavity, something strange caught his eye. A faint pulse, almost like a heartbeat, flickered in the shadows at the very center of the arch. It was small but persistent, a quiet rhythm that beckoned him to look closer. Rylan crouched carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on what was buried beneath the dirt and tangled roots. Gently, he brushed away some of the earth with trembling fingers, revealing more of what was hidden. What he uncovered was startling. It was a book — old beyond measure, and yet strangely untouched by time. Its cover was blackened and charred along the edges, as if it had survived flames or years of neglect. It was bound in a material that looked like ancient leather or hardened stone, something that defied easy classification. Its surface was etched with strange symbols — markings that twisted and curled in unfamiliar patterns, yet somehow beckoned familiarity in their complexity.
The book appeared impossibly ancient, older than any written record he knew. And yet, it wasn't broken or worn out; it looked complete and intact, as if it had been waiting for just the right person to find it. The cover seemed to whisper silently that it was not forgotten but rather preserved deep in the earth's embrace. It was waiting, silent and patient, for someone to uncover its secrets. Rylan's breath caught in his throat as a sense of weight and importance filled him. His fingers, trembling slightly, reached out and barely touched the cover. The moment his fingertips made contact, something extraordinary happened.
The roots around the book recoiled suddenly, as if they recognized him. They twisted awkwardly, withdrawing like nervous fingers pulling back from a flame. It was as if the roots understood that this was not just any outsider. Some deep instinct told them that he belonged here, that he was meant to see this. The roots had been told, in some silent language, "This one is allowed." It was a brief but powerful recognition, a moment of silent communication across time, nature, and memory. As he carefully lifted the heavy book, the warmth he initially felt in his palm erupted into a steady, thrumming pulse. It grew into a rhythm, like a heartbeat he could feel in his bones.
He couldn't explain how he knew this was right — some deep, almost instinctive part of him understood — but it felt like this book had once belonged to him. Maybe not in this life, or perhaps not in the way most think of ownership. Still, it was a part of him once, and he could feel that truth echoing inside. This was a connection that ran deeper than memory or coincidence. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment. The book had been waiting too, lying in its silent grave beneath roots and dirt, just waiting for the one who was meant to find it.
Suddenly, as he lifted the heavy object from its resting place, a flare of warmth burst across his hand. It was a soothing but powerful energy that seemed to pulse through him, almost like a steady thrumming of life itself. His instincts screamed that this wasn't just an ordinary discovery. It was something profound, something important. He had no idea how he knew, but deep down, he felt that this was his ancient connection — the one that tied him to stories, secrets, and the stories buried beneath layers of earth and time. This book, in some unseen way, had once been his — a link across what felt like ages.
As the moment settled over him, the world around seemed to shift slightly. Time itself seemed to hold its breath. All that mattered was this relic, this remnant of something long left behind but never truly lost. It seemed to await the right person, the one who could unlock what lay within. And there, at the top of the hill, amidst shadows and roots, Rylan stood ready to uncover truths that might forever change everything he thought he knew.
Suddenly, a voice shattered the silence. "Rylan!" It was Mira, her voice sharp with surprise and concern. He whipped his head around, startled, as she hurried up the slope, her eyes wide with curiosity. She looked both excited and unsure, as if sensing something extraordinary about what he had stumbled upon. Her words came fast, full of questions. "What is that?"
Rylan hesitated for just a moment before answering, "I… I don't really know." Yet even as he said those words, a different feeling took hold inside him. Deep down, he knew. It wasn't just a strange object buried in the earth. It was more than that. It was a key. Or maybe, it was a memory long buried — a remnant from a past long gone, or perhaps even both. Whatever it was, the world felt like it was on the brink of changing forever. The discovery had opened a door — a hidden gate to secrets no one had dared to imagine. And as Mira reached him, both of their futures now hung in the balance, waiting to be written.