Chapter 36: The Whisper of the Crow
The dawn broke reluctantly over the cursed forest, the light struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of twisted branches above. Damien trudged forward, his body aching and his mind heavy from the relentless trials he had endured. His encounter with the siren-like creature the previous night had left his thoughts in disarray, but he had no choice but to keep moving.
Each step felt heavier, the forest's oppressive atmosphere pressing down on him. The air was thick and damp, carrying the faint scent of decay. Shadows seemed to cling to him, shifting with every move, and the silence of the forest was unnerving. Not even the wind dared to disturb the stillness.
As Damien pushed through the dense undergrowth, a sound broke the silence—a sharp caw that echoed through the trees. He froze, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of the iron sword. The sound was unnaturally loud, reverberating in his ears as though the forest itself were amplifying it.
Another caw followed, this one closer. Damien's eyes darted around, searching for the source. The sound was unlike any bird he had heard before—deeper, almost metallic, with an edge that made his skin crawl.
Then he saw it.
Perched on a gnarled branch above him was a massive crow, its size unnatural and imposing. Its feathers were black as midnight, shimmering with an eerie, razor-like sharpness that caught the faint light filtering through the trees. Its eyes were a piercing silver, glowing faintly as they locked onto Damien.
The crow tilted its head, studying him with an intelligence that was far too human. Its beak opened, and a voice emerged—not the harsh cry of a bird, but a deep, resonant tone that carried a weight of wisdom and malice in equal measure.
"Lost, are we?" the crow said, its voice echoing in Damien's mind as much as in his ears.
Damien took a step back, his heart pounding. "What are you?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the unease creeping through him.
The crow's beak curved into what could only be described as a grin. "What am I? That is the question, isn't it? But perhaps the better question is who am I? And, dear wanderer, who are you to question me?"
Damien frowned, his grip on the sword tightening. He didn't trust the creature, but he couldn't deny the strange pull of its presence. It radiated power, an aura that demanded attention.
"I don't have time for riddles," Damien said, his tone firm. "If you're here to help me, say so. If not, leave me be."
The crow let out a low, rumbling laugh. "Oh, but I am here to help. The question is whether you'll listen. This forest is not kind to those who wander blindly. You'll need more than strength and luck to survive."
It fluttered down from the branch, landing on the ground before Damien with a grace that defied its size. Up close, the crow was even more intimidating. Its feathers seemed to hum with energy, and its eyes burned like molten silver.
"I can guide you," the crow continued, its tone shifting to one of mockery. "Or I can watch as you stumble into the jaws of something far worse than anything you've faced so far."
Damien narrowed his eyes, his instincts screaming at him to tread carefully. "Why would you help me?"
The crow tilted its head again, its glowing eyes narrowing. "Why indeed? Perhaps I find you amusing. Perhaps I enjoy watching you struggle. Or perhaps I see potential in you, a spark that might one day ignite into something greater. You are an enigma, wanderer, and I do enjoy a good puzzle."
Damien's jaw tightened. "And what do you want in return?"
The crow let out another laugh, this one sharp and cutting. "Ah, a clever one. Always asking the right questions. But worry not—my price is not one you need concern yourself with. At least, not yet."
It took a step closer, its feathers glinting like blades in the dim light. "Now, listen carefully. Ahead lies a path, one that forks in two directions. One way leads to a glimmer of safety, a reprieve from this cursed place. The other... well, let's just say it leads to something less pleasant."
Damien stared at the crow, his mind racing. "And how am I supposed to know which path to take?"
The crow's beak curved into that unsettling grin again. "Ah, but that is where the fun lies, isn't it? I'll give you a hint, a riddle if you will. Solve it, and you may just find your way."
Damien sighed, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. "Fine. Let's hear it."
The crow flapped its wings, its voice taking on an almost sing-song quality as it recited the riddle:
"Two paths diverge where the shadows meet,
One of stone, and one of peat.
The stone is cold, the peat is warm,
But one will bring the coming storm.
Choose with care, but choose you must,
For here, your choices turn to dust."
The crow's eyes gleamed as it finished, watching Damien intently.
"What does it mean?" Damien asked, frustration creeping into his voice.
The crow cawed, a harsh sound that echoed like mocking laughter. "Ah, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a riddle, would it? Use that sharp mind of yours, wanderer. The answer lies not just in the words, but in the world around you."
Damien clenched his jaw, his gaze shifting to the forest ahead. He could just make out the faint outlines of the paths the crow had mentioned—one lined with jagged stones, the other covered in dark, spongy peat.
When he turned back to question the crow further, it was gone.
Its absence was jarring, as though a vital part of the air had been stolen. The forest felt heavier without its presence, and Damien couldn't shake the feeling that the crow was still watching him, hidden among the shadows.
Taking a deep breath, Damien stepped toward the fork in the path. He studied the two routes, his mind replaying the riddle over and over.
"The stone is cold, the peat is warm, but one will bring the coming storm."
The stone path looked treacherous, its jagged edges gleaming in the faint light. The peat path, on the other hand, was softer, almost inviting. But Damien had learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving.
He crouched down, brushing his fingers against the ground on each path. The stone was indeed cold, its surface rough and unyielding. The peat, as expected, was warm and damp, almost pulsing with life.
Damien closed his eyes, letting his instincts guide him. The crow's riddle wasn't just about the paths themselves—it was about what they represented.
"Choose with care, but choose you must, for here, your choices turn to dust."
He opened his eyes, his decision made. Taking a deep breath, Damien stepped onto the stone path.
The air grew colder with each step, and the forest seemed to close in around him. But Damien felt a strange sense of clarity, as though he had made the right choice. The faint echo of the crow's laughter lingered in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder if the creature had truly been trying to help him—or if this was just another test in its twisted game.
Only time would tell. And Damien had no choice but to keep moving forward.