ENCHANTED

The night the forest called her name, Alora thought she was dreaming. The village of Ember Hollow had always feared the woods beyond the river. They called it the Whispering Forest, a place where shadows moved without wind and trees leaned too close as if listening. No one entered after sunset. No one dared. But Alora had always felt different. Since childhood, strange things happened around her. Flowers bloomed where she stepped. Candles flickered when she grew angry. Once, during a storm, lightning struck the old oak tree—and it bent away from her instead of toward her. Her grandmother used to say, “Some children are born under ordinary stars. Others are born under enchanted ones.” On her seventeenth birthday, the whispers began. At first, it was faint. Like wind threading through leaves. But there was no wind. The voice was soft, almost musical. Alora… She froze. Her window was open. The moonlight spilled into her room like silver silk. Beyond it, the forest shimmered unnaturally, as though dusted in glowing frost. Come home… Home? Her heart pounded. She had never left Ember Hollow. How could the forest be home? Without thinking, she stepped outside. The grass felt warm beneath her bare feet. Fireflies swirled around her like guiding stars. The moment she crossed the riverbank, the air changed. The trees straightened. The shadows pulled back. And then she saw it. A glowing symbol burned softly on her palm—a crescent wrapped in vines. The whisper turned into a clear voice. “You are the last of the Enchanted.” And the forest bowed. Alora didn’t know it yet—but this was the night the world would change forever.