The village of Elderfern did not appear on most maps. Cradled between rolling green hills and bordered by the looming expanse of the Wildwood, it was a place time had mostly forgotten. Stone cottages clung to moss-covered earth like secrets, and the wind carried the scent of heather and old stories.
Joy stepped off the worn path with a basket over her arm, her boots already damp from morning dew. Her copper-brown curls caught the light as the rising sun broke through the mist. She paused to admire a patch of moonwort growing beside a stream—rare, delicate, and known to bloom only where the veil between worlds was thin.
Her fingers brushed the petals gently.
"You shouldn't touch that," came a voice from behind.
She turned sharply, startled. A man stood several paces away, tall and quiet as the trees. His flannel shirt was worn, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his eyes—gray, unreadable—watched her like the forest itself.
"Why not?" Joy asked, still crouched. "It's just a fern."
He shook his head slowly. "Not just. It only grows near old magic."
Joy tilted her head. "Do you believe in that sort of thing?"
He didn't smile, but something in his expression softened. "Belief doesn't change what is."
She rose, brushing dirt from her skirt. "I'm Joy," she said, extending a hand.
"James."
He hesitated before taking it—his grip was firm, warm, and brief.
"I've just moved into the stone cottage near the old mill," she offered. "I'm studying the plants here. Some don't grow anywhere else anymore."
James nodded. "Be careful where you go. Especially near the Wildwood."
Joy glanced toward the edge of the forest, where ancient trees stood like silent sentinels. "Because of the magic?"
"Because some things don't want to be found."