The forest of Vaelwood did not appear on maps.
Travelers spoke of it only in lowered voices, saying the trees there grew too close together — as if conspiring. The wind did not pass through its branches. Light did not fully reach the ground.
And something beneath the soil was awake.
When Princess Elara crossed into Vaelwood, the air changed.
Not colder.
Not warmer.
Just… heavier.
Her kingdom had fallen three nights before. A creature of smoke and antlers had walked through the palace gates without resistance. Steel shattered against it. Fire curled harmlessly through its ribs.
Her father, the king, had whispered with his dying breath:
"It came from the roots."
So Elara came to the forest.
She carried no army — only a silver dagger and a crown she no longer wanted.
The deeper she walked, the quieter the world became. No birds. No insects. Even her footsteps sounded distant, as if the ground swallowed them.
Then she saw it.
A door.
Carved into the trunk of a colossal black oak.
It pulsed.
Like a heartbeat.