The Forest Where Time Sleeps

No one in the village of Elswyn dared to step beyond the stone arch at the edge of the woods.

They said the forest was cursed.

They said time unraveled there—seconds stretching into years, memories warping like reflections in a broken mirror.

But Lyra never believed the stories. Not until the day her little brother vanished chasing a silver fox into the trees, and no one would follow to bring him back.

That was ten years ago.

She had waited. She had mourned. She had listened to the old tales by firelight. But now, she was ready to find him—even if it meant stepping into the forest where time sleeps.

The moment Lyra crossed beneath the arch of weather-worn stone, the world changed.

The air turned thick, like syrup sliding over her skin. Light filtered strangely through the canopy—sunbeams hanging still in the air, unmoving. Leaves hovered mid-fall, caught in a spell she couldn’t see.

And then there was silence. Not the soft hush of the woods, but something deeper, more ancient. The kind of silence that had weight.

She stepped carefully, the ground soft and mossy beneath her boots. Around her, twisted oaks loomed like statues, their bark etched with faint symbols—clocks, runes, spirals.

Lyra clutched her pendant, a simple silver charm her brother had made before he disappeared. “I’m coming, Callen,” she whispered.

As if in response, a whisper brushed her ear, though no one stood beside her.

"The forest remembers..."

She didn’t know how long she walked. Minutes? Hours? Days?

The sky never shifted. The mist never cleared. But as she pressed deeper into the woods, the forest seemed to breathe. Vines curled toward her footsteps. Flowers opened slowly when she passed. And through it all, she kept hearing faint whispers—like echoes from forgotten dreams.

Then she saw it: a clearing, lit by a pale, impossible light. In the center stood a stone pedestal, and upon it, an hourglass.

The sand inside shimmered silver. It didn’t fall—but hovered in the neck of the glass, motionless.

As she stepped closer, her heart caught in her throat. A boy knelt beside the pedestal, his back to her. He was no older than ten.

"Callen?"

He turned.

It was him.

Exactly as he had looked the day he vanished. Same dark curls, same mischievous eyes—only now they were wide with confusion.

"Lyra?" he asked, blinking slowly. "Why are you older?"

Her breath faltered. “You… you’ve been gone for ten years.”

He shook his head. “I just followed the fox. It hasn’t even been a whole day.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she knelt and hugged him tightly.

The forest stirred.

The hourglass began to shift. The silver sand trembled—and started to fall.

Suddenly, the trees groaned. The symbols on their bark glowed with golden light. Time, held so tightly for so long, began to unravel.

“You have awakened the Sleeper,” the forest whispered.

From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in leaves and shadow. Its face was ageless, woven of wood and light, eyes glowing with deep, ancient wisdom.

"You have touched the heart of the forest," it said. "Time has remembered you."

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked, rising.

The Sleeper extended a hand toward the hourglass.

"You may leave with your brother, but a price must be paid. Time cannot be stolen—it must be given."

She looked at Callen. His small hand clutched hers.

"What price?" she asked.

The Sleeper’s voice was soft, almost kind. "Your years. The ten you carried while he slept in stillness."

Lyra looked down at her hands. She hadn’t noticed before, but fine lines traced her skin. Gray dusted her hair. Time, once borrowed, now returned.

She nodded.

“I’ll pay it.”

The forest sighed.

The trees bowed. The hourglass burst in a flash of silver light.

When she opened her eyes, Lyra and Callen stood once more before the stone arch. The village lay in the distance, just as they had left it.

But Lyra’s limbs felt heavier, slower. Her face bore the years she had carried alone.

Callen looked up at her, confused but safe.

“Was it real?” he asked.

She smiled gently, brushing hair from his brow.

“All of it.”

They walked home, side by side.

And behind them, the arch sealed in vines, the forest sleeping once more.

But some say, when the moon is high and the wind is still, you can hear the whisper:

“Time remembers those who walk its wild paths.”