Whispers of the Forgotten Forest

Whispers of the Forgotten Forest

The villagers called it the Forgotten Forest—a vast stretch of towering trees so thick and dark that even the bravest hunters refused to venture too deep. No one knew how old it was, but strange things happened to those who dared to enter. Some returned with memories missing, others with eerie stories of voices calling their names. Some never returned at all.

But none of that stopped Elara.

She had spent her whole life staring at the edge of the forest, feeling its pull. There was something in there—something that wanted to be found. And on the night of the blood moon, when the sky was painted crimson and the wind carried a whisper only she could hear, she finally stepped beyond the trees.

The air inside was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something ancient. The deeper she walked, the more the forest seemed to shift around her, as if the trees were moving when she wasn’t looking. The path twisted in unnatural ways, leading her in circles until she stumbled into a clearing bathed in silver light.

At its center stood a tree unlike any other—its bark was pale as bone, its leaves shimmering like glass. And beneath it, half-buried in moss, lay a book.

Elara hesitated before picking it up. The moment her fingers brushed its surface, the forest breathed. Leaves rustled without wind. Shadows lengthened. A low hum filled the air, like a voice just out of reach.

She opened the book.

The pages were blank—until the words Welcome home, Elara scrawled themselves in ink that glowed like fireflies.

Her heart pounded. How did it know her name?

Then, as if in answer, the memories flooded back—memories she didn’t know she had. Running through this very forest as a child. Laughter echoing between the trees. A promise made beneath the bone-white tree.

She wasn’t an outsider.

She had been here before.

And the forest had been waiting for her to return.Elara staggered back, the book trembling in her grip. The memories poured into her like water through a broken dam—faces she had forgotten, whispers of laughter, the feeling of cool moss beneath her bare feet. But more than anything, she remembered the promise.

She had sworn to return.

A gust of wind rushed through the clearing, carrying the scent of something old—not decay, but the richness of time itself. The tree’s glass-like leaves trembled, and a soft voice, neither male nor female, neither young nor old, echoed through the air.

“You are late.”

Elara turned sharply, scanning the shadows beyond the tree. The voice had no clear source, but she could feel it wrapping around her, seeping into her bones.

“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

The book in her hands turned its own pages, faster than the wind should allow, stopping on a single phrase:

You knew once. Remember.

A sharp pain shot through her head, and suddenly, she did remember.

She had not been an ordinary child wandering into the woods. She had belonged to the forest once—one of its guardians, a keeper of its secrets. The Forgotten Forest was not just a place of mystery; it was alive, aware, and ancient beyond measure. It had chosen her long ago, and she had sworn to protect it.

But something had gone wrong.

She saw flashes of herself standing at the forest’s edge, her hands bound in silver chains. A man with piercing gray eyes whispering words of magic. A force ripping her away from her home, erasing her memories, casting her out.

The realization sent a shudder through her. Someone had stolen her from the forest. Someone had wanted her to forget.

Her hands clenched around the book as she whispered, “I want to remember everything.”

The tree responded.

The clearing pulsed with light, and the forest around her shifted. Roots twisted, forming an archway in front of her. Beyond it, the forest was different—brighter, more vivid, alive in a way the outside world was not. It was welcoming her back.

But something was waiting for her on the other side.

Something—or someone—who did not want her to return.Elara hesitated before the archway, her heart pounding. The forest had awakened, but so had the presence lurking in its depths—the one who had taken her memories, the one who had stolen her away.

She took a breath and stepped through.

The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth rushed over her, like the embrace of an old friend. The trees whispered her name, their leaves glowing softly, as if welcoming her home. The air shimmered with faint golden light, and the ground beneath her feet pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.

But she was not alone.

A figure stood in the distance, half-hidden by the trees.

Tall. Cloaked in shadows. Watching.

The presence was familiar, sending a shiver down her spine. A memory flickered in her mind—those same piercing gray eyes, a voice laced with power.

“You should not have come back.”

The voice was smooth, calm, but laced with warning.

Elara tightened her grip on the book. “You took my memories,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her chest. “Why?”

The figure stepped closer, and as the shadows peeled away, she finally saw him.

A man—no older than thirty, yet something in his gaze spoke of centuries. His hair was dark as midnight, his skin pale, and his eyes… those haunting gray eyes. He was beautiful in a way that was unsettling, like a sculpture carved too perfectly to be real.

“You were never meant to remember,” he murmured. “You were never meant to return.”

Elara’s pulse thundered. “I belong here,” she said, her voice stronger now. “And I want to know why you took that from me.”

The man sighed, his expression unreadable. “Because I had no choice.”

With a flick of his hand, the forest shifted again—branches curling, roots twisting, shadows lengthening.

A warning.

But Elara held her ground.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

His gaze locked onto hers, unreadable and ancient.

“I am the one who kept you safe.”

Her breath caught. Safe? From what?

The book in her hands glowed brighter, and as if in response, the forest pulsed again—this time, not with welcome, but with urgency.

A truth long buried was rising to the surface.

And Elara was about to remember everything.Elara’s fingers tightened around the book as a deep thrumming filled the air. The forest was alive, pulsing with urgency, as if trying to push her toward the truth. But the man—the one who claimed to have kept her safe—stood unmoving, his gaze dark and unwavering.

“Safe from what?” she demanded.

A flicker of something passed through his expression—regret? Pain? She couldn’t tell.

“The forest chose you,” he said softly. “But so did they.”

The moment the words left his lips, a memory surged through her like a tidal wave.

A night bathed in silver moonlight. A circle of robed figures standing beneath the bone-white tree. Whispers in a language she didn’t understand. And her—a child, standing at the center, unaware of the power thrumming in her veins.

She had been chosen. Not just by the forest, but by something older.

Something hungry.

Elara stumbled back, her breath coming in short gasps. “No…”

“Yes,” the man said, his voice almost gentle. “They marked you as theirs. The Forgotten Forest was never just a home to you—it was a prison, a barrier to keep them from taking you completely.”

She shook her head, the book trembling in her hands. “Then why take me away? Why erase my memories?”

His eyes darkened. “Because the forest alone could not protect you forever. And neither could I.”

The air around them thickened, shadows stretching unnaturally. The trees groaned, their leaves whispering in a language she could almost understand.

“They know you remember.”

A chill ran down her spine.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” the man murmured. “Now, they’re waking up.”

And as if summoned by his words, the forest shuddered.

A sound—low, guttural, inhuman—rose from the depths of the trees. The shadows twisted, peeling away from the bark, taking shape.

Eyes. Dozens of them, glowing a sickly white.

The things that had claimed her as their own were stirring.

And now, they were coming for her.