Whispers and the wildwood

The first time Liora stepped into the Wildwood, the world changed. The veil between realms shimmered like moonlight on water, a silvery curtain parting as her foot crossed the boundary. The air shifted—warmer, sweeter, laced with the perfume of ancient blooms and the hum of invisible wings. She felt it deep in her bones: this was not ordinary forestland. It was a realm stitched with magic, older than kingdoms and wiser than any library. It had been her grandmother’s stories that led her here. Tales murmured by the hearth, of fae kings and starborn warriors, of heartbound lovers torn apart by time. Liora had dismissed them once as old woman's fancies. Until the day she found the map. Hidden inside her grandmother’s jewelry box was a brittle parchment, inked with symbols she didn’t recognize and a single line in trembling script: When your heart seeks truth, follow the starlight to the Wildwood. And so, she did. Liora had always felt a strange pull toward the trees that circled her village. Not fear, not quite. A reverent curiosity. As if the woods watched and waited. Now, as she walked deeper under emerald canopies, that sensation intensified. Her fingers brushed over moss-covered trunks, and each touch sent a thrill up her spine. The forest breathed with her. Suddenly, the silence fractured. A whisper—no louder than the rustle of a leaf—called her name. “Liora…” She froze. Her eyes darted through the trees, searching for the source, but saw only shafts of sunlight and drifting pollen. Still, the voice curled around her like silk. “Who’s there?” she called out. No answer. Only the wind. She pressed forward. Hours passed—or was it minutes? Time tangled strangely here. As twilight descended, painting the leaves in lavender and gold, Liora reached a glade. At its center stood a tree unlike any she’d seen. Taller than a cathedral, with silver bark that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Its leaves shimmered between green, blue, and violet. As she approached, the wind whispered again. Not words this time—music. A lullaby she’d known since childhood but never knew the source of. Drawn by the melody, she reached out to touch the bark. Before her fingers could meet it, a voice, deep and commanding, rang out. “Don’t touch the Heartwood.” Liora gasped and whirled around. He stood at the glade’s edge, half in shadow, half in golden light. Tall, lean, with hair black as midnight and eyes like stormclouds—gray and swirling with intensity. Cloaked in forest-green and leather, he moved like something not entirely human. “Who are you?” she demanded, though her voice quivered. “I should ask the same,” he replied, stepping closer. “You’re not from this realm.” “I’m… from the village beyond the woods. I followed a map.” His brow furrowed. “No human has crossed the veil in a hundred years.” “Well, I didn’t exactly mean to—” “You touched nothing else?” “No.” He circled her, studying her with a wariness that bordered on reverence. “What’s your name?” “Liora.” Something flickered in his gaze. Recognition? Pain? “Of course,” he murmured. “It had to be you.” “What do you mean?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned toward the Heartwood and placed his palm gently against it. The tree glowed brighter at his touch. When he turned back, his expression had softened. “I’m Caelum. Guardian of the Heartwood. And you, Liora, are more than you know.”