Chapter 6 – The Village of Whispers
814 Words
The fog came first. It rolled down from the highlands like a living thing, coiling through the fields and swallowing the road ahead. Elias guided his horse slowly, his gloved hand brushing damp air that seemed to hum with unseen energy. The world had gone strangely still—no birds, no wind, only the slow, rhythmic sound of hooves on wet earth.
When he finally saw the village, it looked half-remembered, as though painted in fading memory rather than flesh and stone. Roofs sagged under moss. The well in the square was choked with vines. And yet, faint lanterns glowed behind shuttered windows, whispering life where none should have been.
A boy ran past him, barefoot, a small bell clutched in his hand. The child’s eyes flicked to Elias only briefly before darting away, fear quick as lightning.
Elias dismounted, leading his horse toward the inn at the center of the square. A crooked sign swung above the door: The Whisper’s Rest. Its hinges creaked like an unspoken warning.
Inside, the air was thick with herbs and old smoke. A woman behind the counter looked up from her work, her face lined by years of quiet dread.
“You’re not from here,” she said, her voice low.
“I’m passing through,” Elias replied, lowering his hood. “Looking for someone.”
Her hands paused mid-motion. “You’re not the first.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me what happened to the others.”
The woman hesitated, eyes darting toward the window, where faint glimmers of blue floated beyond the fog. Fireflies—or something pretending to be them.
“They came with questions,” she whispered. “Like you. And the forest took them.”
Elias frowned. “You speak as if it’s alive.”
“It is,” she said. “At night, the trees breathe. The air hums. And those blue lights you see—” she shuddered—“they’re the souls of those who couldn’t leave.”
He glanced back through the doorway. The lights moved with uncanny grace, weaving between the houses like silent guardians. They cast no warmth, only a soft glow that turned everything ghostly.
“Why stay here, then?” he asked.
She smiled faintly. “Because the dead whisper to us, and sometimes, they sound like the ones we’ve lost.”
A sudden chill slipped through the room. The lanterns flickered, and a child’s laughter echoed faintly from somewhere outside.
Elias’s hand found the hilt of his dagger. “What do they say, these whispers?”
The woman’s voice dropped to a tremor. “They say her name. Mira.”
The sound of it struck him like a bell.
He left the inn soon after, unable to bear the feeling of unseen eyes pressing against the walls. The fog had thickened, and the blue fireflies had multiplied, gliding above the cobbled path like a river of light.
He followed them to the edge of the village, where a shrine stood—a circle of stones surrounding a dry fountain. Offerings lay scattered there: wilted flowers, carved charms, fragments of bone.
And on the largest stone, etched deep into the surface, was a single phrase:
“She weeps for those who still remember.”
A faint sound came from behind him. The boy with the bell stood there again, watching.
“Do you hear them too?” Elias asked softly.
The boy nodded, wide-eyed. “They talk about her. The lady in the woods. They say she cries at night, and the fireflies go to comfort her.”
Elias crouched, meeting the child’s gaze. “Has anyone seen her?”
“No,” the boy whispered. “But sometimes, when the moon is full, we see her shadow walking by the river. She stops to look toward the village. Mama says she’s waiting for someone who never came back.”
Elias’s chest tightened. “And do you believe her?”
The boy thought for a long moment. Then he said, “I think she’s lonely. Like the forest.”
The bell in his hand gave a soft chime. At that sound, the fireflies flared brighter, swirling in a sudden pattern, forming a vague silhouette—a woman’s shape, fleeting and luminous. Elias’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw her face: sorrowful, beautiful, unreal.
Then the light scattered. The boy was gone. Only the bell lay in the grass.
Elias picked it up, the metal cold as moonlight. Somewhere, deep in the trees beyond the village, a voice sighed through the fog.
“Leave, before the whispers remember your name.”
But Elias didn’t move. He turned toward the forest’s edge, where the blue glow pulsed faintly, calling to him.
He stepped forward once, twice, until the village fell silent behind him and the world was swallowed by the light.
- Writer
