Sandria Drive, Valar City. Early morning.
The town stirred to life beneath a pale sun, its warmth barely brushing the cobbled streets. Smoke curled from the chimneys of quaint, cottage-like houses. Children in neatly pressed uniforms rushed out of doors, their laughter echoing through the narrow lanes.
It was a day like any other. Yet, for Mira, this day would be the beginning of everything—everything she thought only existed in stories whispered by candlelight.
She didn't know it yet.
Far from Sandria Drive, nearly 150 miles away, stood The Howling Forest, a dark and unforgiving stretch of trees that loomed over the edge of the town like a watching predator. Ancient, cursed, and shrouded in thick mist, it cast a brooding shadow over Valar City—a shadow that seemed alive, moving as if the forest breathed in sync with the world.
No one spoke of the forest unless necessary. Children were warned not to stray too close, and stories of those who dared venture into its depths—and never returned—kept the town on edge.
The cursed woods were a blight on the land. No crops grew on the soil near its borders. The vast field that separated the town from the forest lay barren, home only to wild, untamable weeds. Birds refused to fly over it, and no one dared to hunt near its edges.
The only thing that connected the town to the forest was the river. The One, they called it—a silver ribbon of water that wound between Valar and the cursed woods like a fragile thread, as if daring to link two opposing worlds. It was the only part of the forest the townsfolk trusted. Its crystal-clear waters always flowed away from the shadows, carrying with them the promise of life.
But even the river held secrets.
Some said they had seen things in the water—whispers of movement just beneath the surface. Others claimed to have heard faint voices carried on the wind at night, calling out in languages long forgotten.
Yet the real danger wasn't the river or the stories told around fires. It was something older, something darker.