The village of Eldham, tucked deep within the Sair Kingdom, was small and unchanging. Its people lived simple lives—farmers, hunters, woodcutters—never daring to wander far from the stone paths and open fields. Yet looming at the edge of their world was a presence no one could ignore:
The Forest of Whispers.
It stretched wider than the village itself, a black sea of trees that seemed older than time. Ninety percent of it was sealed away, blocked with ancient barricades of dark wood and covered in yellowed talismans scrawled with forgotten runes. The barricades creaked in the wind, but never broke. Some said it wasn't the wood or the rope that held the forest shut—it was the fear of those who lived nearby.
When the night was still, strange things could be heard from within.
Low, dragging sounds like chains across stone.
Whispers too faint to understand, yet too sharp to ignore.
Sometimes, a child swore they saw eyes watching them between the branches—only for the elders to hush them, warning, "Never speak of what you see in the dark."
No one in Eldham questioned the rule. Do not enter the forest. Do not listen to the whispers.
But Leo… was different.
---
Leo was twenty-one, though his presence in the village felt far smaller. His hair, unkempt and dark, always hung low enough to shadow his sharp gray eyes. He spoke little, rarely smiled, and when others laughed or shared stories, he sat quietly on the fringes.
The villagers often forgot he was there.
And perhaps, Leo preferred it that way.
He lived with his elder brother, Rex, who was the opposite of him in every way—outspoken, hardworking, respected among the townsfolk. Rex carried the weight of responsibility with pride, while Leo seemed content to fade into silence.
But silence did not mean emptiness.
While others tended to crops or sharpened hunting tools, Leo spent his days with charcoal and scraps of wood, sketching strange symbols that no one recognized. Circles within circles. Marks that looked like eyes. Patterns that seemed to twist if one stared too long.
"Cursed boy," some villagers muttered when they saw his work.
Others shook their heads. "Just odd. Pays no mind to the world."
Yet if anyone ever asked Leo what the symbols meant, he would simply lower his eyes and say nothing. Because even he did not fully know. He only knew that his hand moved on its own, as though something guided it.
And always, the lines and shapes came most clearly after the forest began to whisper at night.
---
The first day of summer brought unease to Eldham. Hunters returned from the woods, their faces pale, speaking of footsteps behind them though no one was there. Women drawing water from the well claimed they heard a low hum echoing through the trees. Children cried in their sleep, insisting someone called their names.
That evening, while the villagers gathered in the square, Rex leaned close to Leo.
"You hear it too, don't you?" Rex asked quietly. His voice was sharp, worried.
Leo did not answer. He only looked at the forest's black edge, where the talismans swayed in the wind like dying leaves.
The villagers whispered about the danger. About how, seven centuries ago, a calamity was bound inside those woods. About how the forest was not just a prison, but a warning.
"Seven hundred years it has slept," said one elder. "But even the deepest chains rust with time."
Leo listened. And for the briefest moment, he thought he heard something beneath their voices—
a faint, drawn-out breath… coming from the trees.
When night fell and Rex finally slept, Leo lay awake, staring at the wooden ceiling of their small hut. The whispers came again, soft but undeniable. His name.
"Leo…"
The sound was neither male nor female, neither near nor far. It was inside him, curling through his mind like smoke.
The boy who spoke to no one… was being spoken to.
And though every story warned him to turn away, Leo's heart beat with a strange, forbidden truth—
The forest wasn't calling anyone else.
It was calling only him.