Echoes in the Elderwood

The village of Blackthorn lay on the edge of the Elderwood, a sprawling forest that few dared to enter. It was not that the forest was particularly dangerous—at least, not in any way one could understand with human senses—but there was something in the air there, something that made every person who had the misfortune to wander too deep feel… unsettled.

Hanna had heard the stories since she was a child. Her mother, with a shiver in her voice, would tell her of the whispers that seemed to rise from the depths of the forest, the ancient trees that would groan with age but never fall, and the way the wind, once it entered the Elderwood, would never seem to leave. Hanna’s curiosity, however, had always outweighed her fear.

And now, standing on the edge of that very forest, she could no longer resist its pull.

She wasn’t entirely sure what brought her here—whether it was the soft whispers that had tugged at her in the night or the strange dreams that had visited her over the past few weeks, dreams of glowing figures moving beneath the trees, of ancient songs sung by voices that didn’t belong to any living soul. Her grandmother had always warned her never to venture too far into the Elderwood. “It listens,” she had said, “and it remembers.”

Yet, despite her grandmother’s warnings, despite the tales of vanished travelers and strange happenings, Hanna couldn’t deny the need to understand what lay hidden beneath the forest’s shadows. The pull was undeniable, and it was now stronger than ever.

Taking a deep breath, Hanna stepped over the boundary where the last field of Blackthorn met the dense woods. Immediately, the temperature dropped, the air thickening, as though the forest itself exhaled a cool sigh of welcome—or warning.

The trees were ancient. Their gnarled branches intertwined like hands locked in a secretive embrace. Shadows danced beneath the thick canopy, and the path before her seemed to stretch on endlessly, swallowed by the shadows. The stillness around her was suffocating, the usual sounds of birds and insects eerily absent.

Hanna’s heart beat faster as she ventured deeper, the muffled crunch of leaves beneath her boots the only sound accompanying her. The trees felt alive, watching her every step.

Soon, she came to a clearing—an open space so filled with sunlight that it felt unnatural, as though the forest had given her a gift, just for a moment. In the center of the clearing stood a large, weathered stone. It was not quite a monument but seemed to have a purpose, as though it had always belonged here, rooted in the very heart of the Elderwood. Moss covered the edges, and strange symbols were etched deep into the surface, symbols Hanna recognized from her grandmother’s old texts.

As she approached the stone, the air seemed to hum, a low vibration that resonated deep within her bones. The stone was warm to the touch, and as her fingers brushed against it, a sharp image burst into her mind—an image of the forest, ancient and untamed, but there were figures, too, figures wrapped in cloaks of shadows, their faces hidden, moving silently through the trees. They were watching her.

The Elders, she thought, her heart pounding. She had heard of them, of course. The ancient guardians of the forest. But they were myths, stories passed down through generations. The kind of tales meant to keep children out of the woods. Were they real?

She stepped back, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. And then, from deep within the forest, a soft whisper echoed in the air, barely audible at first. It sounded like a song, a lullaby of sorts, ancient and mournful. The wind seemed to pick up, carrying the melody across the clearing. Hanna’s breath caught in her throat.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice trembling more than she’d like to admit.

There was no answer—only the song. But it wasn’t just a song. There was something else beneath the melody—words, ancient words she couldn’t understand, but words that felt familiar, like the echo of her own heartbeat.

A movement caught her eye.

From the trees at the far end of the clearing, a figure emerged, cloaked in a robe that blended with the shadows. It moved silently, so silently that Hanna could barely hear the rustle of its cloak. The figure stopped just outside the edge of the clearing, its hood drawn low, obscuring its face.

“Who are you?” Hanna asked again, stepping forward. Her voice was stronger now, though fear still curled in her chest.

The figure didn’t speak. Instead, it lifted its hand, pointing to the stone in the center of the clearing. Hanna’s eyes followed the gesture, and for the first time, she saw what the figure was indicating—another symbol, glowing faintly, etched into the stone.

The figure moved closer, and Hanna could feel its presence, not as a physical form, but as something older, something vast. It was not human. It was part of the forest itself. The figure’s voice finally broke the silence, not through words but through the very air itself, its meaning flowing into her mind.

“You’ve come seeking answers, child. The forest remembers what the world has forgotten. The echoes are always here, waiting to be heard.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Hanna’s mind spun as the words settled in her thoughts.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

The figure stepped back, its form beginning to dissolve into the shadows once more. “In time, you will,” it said, its voice now a mere ripple in the air. “The forest always chooses those who are meant to listen.”

With that, the figure faded, leaving Hanna alone once more. But she no longer felt like she was alone.

As she turned to leave the clearing, the forest around her felt different—alive, aware, and waiting. The echoes of the Elderwood whispered all around her, ancient and timeless, as though the forest had always known her name.

And somehow, Hanna understood. The forest was more than just trees and earth. It was memory, it was presence, it was power.

And it had not forgotten her.