The air felt charged with the weight of discovery as Elara sat cross-legged by the fire, the worn journal resting carefully in her lap. The other immortals gathered around her, the faint glow of the fire casting flickering shadows over their faces. Even Sylvaris stood close by, his tall figure silhouetted against the trees. They had waited anxiously for the group's return, and now, with the journal in their possession, curiosity hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Elara gently opened the journal, her fingers running over the frayed edges of the pages. The ancient parchment felt brittle beneath her touch, the ink smudged and fading. She squinted at the writing, her brow furrowing in concentration, but the age of the text made it nearly illegible.
"This is going to be difficult," she muttered, turning another fragile page. "It's so worn, I can barely make out the letters."
The immortals leaned in, their expressions tense with anticipation. Zahara, always practical, crossed her arms. "We need to know what's inside. It could explain so much."
Cassian, who had been quietly observing, added, "If it holds any answers, we have to try."
Elara nodded, but as she strained to read the faded text, her frustration grew. The journal had clearly seen better days, and its contents were at risk of being lost forever. She let out a soft sigh, about to close it in defeat, when a soft rustling caught her attention.
One of the Gloomlings, smaller and more agile than the others, had edged closer to the fire. Its luminous eyes glinted with curiosity as it peered over Elara's shoulder at the journal. It chirped softly in its strange language, drawing the attention of the group.
The leader of the Gloomlings, an older and wiser creature with slightly hunched shoulders and a faintly glowing scar on its brow, stepped forward. Its dark eyes, ancient and knowing, flickered with recognition as they traced the strange symbols on the page.
"I… know this," the Gloomling rasped, its voice dry and whispery, like the rustle of autumn leaves. It extended a thin, clawed hand to touch the faded ink. "This is the old tongue of the forest. My people… we've seen these symbols before."
The immortals exchanged surprised glances. Zahara raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You can read it?"
The Gloomling nodded slowly, its claw hovering just above the page as it continued to examine the writing. "Yes… though it has been many, many years. This language belongs to the forest itself."
With an eerie precision, the Gloomling began to speak, its voice soft and melodic, almost hypnotic as it translated the first few lines:
"Day 1
My name is Ellisar, and today we found the forest… It is unlike any place we have ever seen. The trees here are ancient, their roots burrow deep into the earth as though they are holding onto secrets long forgotten. The air is thick with the scent of pine and damp soil, and every step we take feels like it is being watched."
The Gloomling paused, glancing up at the immortals, its eyes dark and unreadable. Sylvaris tilted his head, listening intently, while Isolde's expression grew more guarded, her hand unconsciously tightening around the hilt of her dagger.
The Gloomling continued, its raspy voice carrying through the silence of the forest:
"We ventured deeper into the heart of the forest and stumbled upon a village hidden beneath the canopy. The villagers here are unlike any we've met before. Their eyes are old, wise beyond their years, and there is a quiet understanding in the way they look at us. They welcomed us with open hearts, offering food and shelter, but there is a weight to their words, as though they know something we do not."
Elara glanced at Sylvaris, who had grown unusually still, his gaze distant as though remembering something from long ago. The immortals exchanged uneasy glances. This village, hidden within the heart of the forest, sounded almost too good to be true. The sense of foreboding was palpable.
The Gloomling traced a symbol on the next page—a jagged spiral encircled by ancient runes—and its eyes narrowed slightly. "This symbol… it is the mark of the forest guardian. It is said to be a warning."
Nyssa, who had been listening in silence, shifted uncomfortably. "A warning for what?"
The Gloomling's voice dropped to a near whisper as it read on:
"Day 3
The villagers shared a legend with us today, one that has been passed down for generations. They spoke of a guardian, a being older than the forest itself. The creature is said to be made from the very essence of the woods—its body formed from ancient wood and bark, twisted and gnarled like the trees. They call it the Ancient One, the protector of the forest. It stands over ten feet tall, with eyes that burn like the embers of a dying fire, watching over all who enter its domain."
The fire crackled louder, its flames dancing as if in response to the Gloomling's words. The atmosphere had grown tense, the immortal's faces now shadowed with concern. Isolde's grip on her weapon tightened, her gaze darting around the forest as though expecting the guardian to emerge at any moment.
Everything had felt so mysterious, so haunting, and now this journal was speaking of creatures older than the forest itself.
The Gloomling continued:
"Everything was perfect until that day…"
The journal fell silent. The Gloomling stopped reading, its eyes narrowing as it looked up at the immortals. The sudden end of the entry left an unsettling silence hanging in the air.
"What happened on that day?" Kael asked, his voice low and cautious.
The Gloomling shook its head, flipping to the next page, but the writing was too faded, the ink having bled into the page over the years. The next part of the story had been lost to time.
"The rest is gone…" the Gloomling murmured, its voice regretful. "But what I remember from my people is that when you start thinking of the worst, the forest will bring it to you."
Sylvaris stepped forward, his calm energy cutting through the growing tension. "Then we should not dwell on such things," he said, a small, reassuring smile on his face. "The forest listens, but it is not without kindness."
"Maybe we should keep our thoughts positive then," Zahara added, her voice breaking the heavy silence. "We've dealt with worse things than ancient guardians."
The Gloomling nodded, its dark eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge. "Yes, but you must always be cautious in this forest. It has a way of turning your fears into reality."
The immortals fell into a deep silence, the journal's words lingering in their minds. Outside their small circle, the shadows of the trees deepened as night fully descended, and the forest seemed to hold its breath. A soft, distant whistle echoed through the darkness, faint but unmistakable.
"They're returning," Sylvaris said softly, a knowing smile playing at his lips.
As if in response, the trees parted, revealing the silhouettes of their companions making their way back. They carried more than just the journal—they carried secrets that would shape the next steps in their journey.
The journal remained open, its pages fluttering slightly in the night breeze, as if daring them to uncover the full truth hidden within its fragile lines.