Chapter 2
The Witch's Warning
The forest was eerily silent as Alaric sat by the dwindling fire, the key in his hand glowing faintly. His mind raced, replaying the events of the night—the spectral wolves, the surge of magic, and the overwhelming sense of danger that lingered. He tightened his grip on the key, its pulse synchronizing with his heartbeat. Eldarath felt closer than ever, but so did the peril surrounding it.
As dawn broke, Alaric extinguished his fire and prepared to move. The map in the book indicated his next destination: a dense region of the forest marked with a symbol resembling a crescent moon. He didn't know what awaited him, but the book's cryptic instructions urged him onward.
The journey through the forest was grueling. The air grew colder, the trees denser, and the light of the sun barely penetrated the thick canopy above. The once-familiar sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves were replaced by an unsettling stillness. Every step seemed to echo, as though the forest itself were watching him.
Hours passed before he noticed a faint trail of smoke rising above the treetops. Curiosity and caution waged war within him, but his curiosity won. Clutching the key tightly, he followed the smoke until he stumbled upon a small clearing.
In the center stood a crooked wooden hut, its roof thatched with moss and vines. The air around it seemed unnaturally still, as though the forest was holding its breath. Alaric hesitated, but the faint hum of the key in his pocket urged him forward.
As he approached the hut, the door creaked open on its own, revealing a dimly lit interior. Alaric stepped inside cautiously, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and incense. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of strange substances—dried roots, shimmering powders, and bones of creatures he couldn't identify.
"You're bold to enter uninvited," a voice said, smooth and low, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Alaric turned sharply to see a woman seated at a table, her fingers idly tracing the rim of a glass vial. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Her hair was a cascade of silvery white, and her eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. Draped in dark robes adorned with intricate symbols, she exuded an aura of power and mystery.
"I—I didn't mean to intrude," Alaric stammered, taking a step back.
The woman smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Few find this place by accident," she said, her gaze fixed on him. "And fewer still leave unchanged."
"I followed the smoke," Alaric explained, his voice steadier now. "Are you… are you a witch?"
Her laughter was soft but carried an edge. "A witch, a seer, a keeper of secrets—call me what you will. My name is Seraphine."
Alaric nodded, unsure of how to respond. "I'm Alaric. I'm a scholar… searching for something."
Seraphine tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "The book," she said, her tone sharper. "You carry it, don't you?"
Alaric's breath caught. "How do you—"
She rose from her chair, moving with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. "I can feel its presence. That cursed tome has a way of drawing those foolish enough to seek Eldarath."
Alaric instinctively reached for the book in his satchel. "You know about Eldarath?"
Seraphine's expression darkened. "More than you could possibly understand. That city is not the paradise you imagine. Its magic is a poison, corrupting everything it touches. Those who seek it bring only ruin upon themselves—and the world."
Alaric frowned, his curiosity flaring into defiance. "The book speaks of unimaginable power, of truths that could reshape the world. How can I ignore that?"
"Because some truths are better left buried," Seraphine snapped, her voice rising. She took a step closer, her dark eyes locking onto his. "Eldarath is cursed, Alaric. Its magic was never meant for mortals. The city's fall was no accident—it was a warning."
Alaric hesitated, her words gnawing at the edges of his determination. "If it's so dangerous, why does the book exist? Why does it show the way?"
Seraphine sighed, her anger softening into something akin to pity. "The book is a trap, a relic of those who sought to control Eldarath's power and failed. It lures the ambitious and the desperate, feeding on their desires until it destroys them."
Alaric shook his head, his resolve hardening. "I can't turn back now. I've seen things—visions, creatures, magic I never thought possible. Eldarath is real, and I need to find it. Maybe it is dangerous, but maybe it's also the key to understanding the world."
Seraphine studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she gestured to the table and sat down once more. "Very well. If you insist on courting your own destruction, at least hear me out first."
Alaric hesitated before sitting across from her. The room seemed darker now, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows.
Seraphine reached for a bowl of dark liquid in the center of the table. "You wish to find Eldarath? Then look into the past, and see the cost of its power."
She muttered an incantation, and the liquid began to ripple and glow. Images formed on its surface—images of a city unlike any Alaric had ever seen. Towering spires of silver and gold rose into the sky, their surfaces etched with glowing runes. Rivers of light flowed through the streets, and figures robed in shimmering fabrics moved with purpose and grace.
"This was Eldarath in its prime," Seraphine said softly, her voice tinged with sorrow.
Alaric leaned closer, captivated by the vision. "It's beautiful," he whispered.
"It was," Seraphine agreed. "But beauty often hides rot."
The images shifted, and the city changed. The rivers of light turned dark and sluggish, and the spires crumbled. The figures in the streets now fought each other, their faces twisted with rage and fear. Shadows engulfed the city, and screams echoed through the air.
"This is what happens when mortals tamper with forces they don't understand," Seraphine said. "The magic of Eldarath was too powerful, too corrupting. It consumed its creators and tore the city apart."
Alaric sat back, shaken. "If that's true, why does the book talk about trials? About keys? It doesn't sound like something that was meant to be hidden forever."
Seraphine's gaze hardened. "Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps there are those who still believe they can control it. But mark my words, Alaric—anyone who tries will pay the price."
Silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the crackling of the candles. Finally, Seraphine leaned forward, her tone urgent. "You've already awakened the first key, haven't you?"
Alaric nodded slowly, pulling the glowing key from his pocket.
Seraphine's expression darkened further. "Then it's too late. The book won't let you go now. It will lead you to the other keys, and you will face the trials whether you want to or not."
"Then help me," Alaric said, his voice steady. "If I'm going to face this, I need to understand what I'm up against. You seem to know more about Eldarath than anyone. Guide me."
Seraphine stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed and stood. "You're a fool, Alaric. But perhaps a guided fool has a better chance of survival."
She moved to a shelf and retrieved a small vial of shimmering blue liquid. "Drink this before you sleep tonight. It will protect your mind from the visions the book sends. But be warned: protection comes at a cost. You may see truths you're not ready for."
Alaric accepted the vial, his determination unwavering. "Thank you," he said.
Seraphine nodded, though her eyes were filled with something that looked like sorrow. "You're welcome to stay here for the night. The forest isn't safe after dark."
Alaric hesitated before nodding. "I appreciate it."
As he settled into the corner of the hut, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him. Seraphine's warnings echoed in his mind, but so did the pull of Eldarath.
Before he drifted off to sleep, he whispered to himself, "Whatever it takes, I'll find the truth."
From her seat by the table, Seraphine watched him with a mixture of pity and dread. The path he had chosen was fraught with danger, and though she had warned him, she knew that some lessons could only be learned the hard way.
In the stillness of the night, the book in Alaric's satchel glowed faintly, its pages seeming to turn on their own. Somewhere deep in the forest, the shadows stirred, and the first trial awaited.