Starlace Grove

In the village of Tiren’s Hollow, where mist danced with morning light and old tales curled around hearth fires, lived a girl named Elira. She was quiet, often mistaken for shy, and spent most of her days listening—to birds, to breezes, to the deep hush of ancient trees. Unlike other children who sought noise and games, Elira wandered the edges of the forest, drawn to something she couldn’t name. On the morning of her thirteenth birthday, a strange hush fell over the glade behind her home. Not silence—something deeper. When Elira stepped into the woods, every sound folded in on itself, as if the world were holding its breath. And then she saw it. A tree, older than memory and broader than ten men’s arms linked together, stood at the heart of the grove. Its bark shimmered faintly, silver threaded through midnight black. What made Elira stop was the sound—it was singing. The melody didn’t come from leaves or wind or birds. It came from within. A low, haunting hum that brushed against her chest and made her eyes sting. She stepped closer, barefoot in the soft moss, and laid her hand against the bark. The world shifted. A mark, spiraling like smoke, appeared on her palm. It pulsed once—warm and light—and then the forest exhaled. The song faded, but Elira felt it inside her, like an echo that would never leave. From that moment, she knew the stories told in whispers were true: the veil was real, and it had chosen her. And so began her journey—not with a roar, but with a whisper.