Sharon stood at the edge of the pathway.
Behind her - the Blitz. A few dim lights in the cottages, the first stirrings of people awakened by dawn.
In front of her - a forest.
It was no ordinary forest.
It was not even just wild.
It was old.
Older than memory.
Older than people.
She stepped onto the path.
The ground was soft, damp, smelling of decay and something else - something bitter, sweet, almost metallic. Like old, clotted life.
Each step seemed to her ... heavier. As if the forest was pulling her in, like mud dragging at her ankles.
The trees grew close together here, twisted, tangled. Their roots emerged from the ground like the fingers of some huge, blind creature. The leaves hung heavy, dark, damp from the mist that drifted close to the ground.
Silence.
But not the usual kind.
It was silence, alive.
Rustling somewhere deep beneath the skin of the forest. Murmuring. Lurking. As if something was breathing along with it.
Something was watching.
She walked slowly, step by step, feeling the air change.
It was cooler. Moister. Denser.
The smell of moss, old bark, decaying leaves.
Somewhere nearby, an owl flitted by - a noiseless grey blur in the gloom. Further away - a pair of glowing red eyes of a fox, which stared at her fixedly before disappearing into the bushes.
The forest was like a maze - there seemed to be a path, but it was barely visible, barely graspable. Winding, uneven, as if it was constantly changing.
Sometimes something rustled in the bushes.
Sometimes Sharon had the impression that she heard a quiet giggle.... as if childish... as if very distant.
But she didn't look away.
She remembered Elijah's words:
'Do not stray from the path.'
And she walked.
The amulet around her neck was as cold as ice. She could feel it all the time, as if it were pressing into her skin.
The sky above the forest was grey, but the light refused to enter.
The trees were becoming denser and denser. The path grew narrower and narrower. Sharon's breathing was getting slower and slower.
She was beginning to understand.
This wasn't just a forest.
This was a threshold.
A frontier.
A world that had hated humans for centuries.
But this is where she had to go.
Into the depths.
Into the heart.
To the Spirit of the Forest.
Sharon walked for a long time.
Time flowed differently here. A quarter of an hour might have passed. Hours could have passed. She had no idea.
At one point she realised that the path... just ended.
She was now standing in a place where the trees grew like a great wall, twisted, tangled, with roots writhing like snakes. Above her hung a thick curtain of leaves and branches. Daylight barely squeezed through. The air was heavy, thick, smelling of wet wood, earth and something old.... something wild.
Sharon stopped.
Sharon stopped at the edge of a place where the forest was becoming different.
There were no longer the usual paths. The ground was softer, overgrown with thick mosses. The air smelled thick - resin, damp, something old and untouched by man for generations.
She reached into her pocket.
She took out an amulet from Elijah.
The amulet pulsed slightly in her hand - as if the forest already knew about it.
She took a few steps into the depths.
And then...
The silence became different.
She was not dead.
It was alert.
She had once heard the term: the silence that watches. Now she understood them.
A murmur. A sigh.
A voice - barely a whisper, as if the forest was breathing somewhere above her head:
- Many have come. Few came back.
Sharon clenched the amulet in her hand. Slowly she knelt down - not out of compulsion, but out of respect.
- I have not come to destroy,' she replied quietly. - I have not come to steal. I come to seek knowledge. I am looking for rescue.
A murmur shifted around her - as if an invisible presence was circling among the trees.
- Help? For whom?
- For those who are prisoners of this land... victims of the phantom.
The forest fell silent for a moment.
But the tension did not disappear.
On the contrary.
The voice came back - deeper, huskier like the bark of an old oak, like something that remembers more than man can comprehend:
- I heard many words. There was little truth in them. Why should I believe you? Why should I help you?
Sharon swallowed her saliva.
She knew she had to answer wisely.
Truthfully.
Because the Spirit of the Forest didn't listen to words.
He listened to the inside.
Sharon took a breath - deep, until it hurt in her chest. She felt her voice tremble, felt her heart flutter - but not out of fear.
Out of humility.
- "Because I didn't come here for myself," she said quietly, almost in a whisper that nevertheless seemed to seep into the earth, into the bark, into the moss beneath her feet. - Not for profit. Not for power. I came because someone else is suffering. Because someone else is crying out for help and everyone is looking away.
Silence.
Deep.
Heavy.
- Rarely does anyone come here empty-handed and full-hearted.... Rarely does anyone understand that the greatest gift is not contained in the palms of one's hands.
A cool breeze moved around Sharon - like the touch of something that has no body but knows every leaf, every drop of dew, every movement of a branch.
- "I hear the truth in you, child of the alien world," a voice sounded. - But truth is not always enough to survive this place.
So tell me, Sharon... - the voice of the Forest Spirit rang out, deep and unrelenting, like tree roots entwining dead stones. - What are you looking for in the heart of the old forest?
Sharon raised her head, feeling that this was no time for half-truths.
- Knowledge,' she replied firmly. - I want to find out what the phantom is that imprisons people in the swamp. And how to defeat it. How to free them.
The forest fell silent - for a moment longer than Sharon had expected. It was as if the very question was awakening something old and reluctant to awaken.
And then the Forest Spirit spoke again - quieter, more somber.
- It is not a spirit like the others. It is a wound. A cry long forgotten. It rose from harm... and only with blood can it be silenced.
Sharon held her breath.
- You need a ritual. An old one. Forgotten by humans, remembered by the earth. A ritual of Ties and Tearing.
The voice hardened, as if each word weighed more than the last.
- You must prepare a bonfire of sacred birch and black oak wood. Arrange a circle of bones around it - an old death that no longer desires anything. And then... then you need the blood of a man. A living sacrifice, but not a slain one. A drop of blood, given voluntarily. Without it, the ritual is empty.
Sharon felt her anxiety grow... but also understanding.
- And what next? - she asked.
The Spirit of the Forest rustled.
- The blood must fall to the ground. And the fire must ignite. You must set fire to the pyre and speak the words that will awaken the memory of the old world.
The voice grew lower and lower, as if coming from the very bottom of the earth.
- Remember them well, Sharon... for once spoken, they cannot be taken back.
And then she heard:
"En'valeth seruun nar'kaeth.
Arieth mor'vhael ten'dur.
Sii'lath venahr, drael mori.
Kharas eil'en... nael'therin."
The words sounded alien, wild, like the whisper of something that knew the beginning and end of everything.
The Spirit of the Forest fell silent, but something heavy remained in the air. Something that waited for the promise to be fulfilled.
Sharon nodded her head.
- I will remember.
And she knew that from now on the path ahead of her led only one way.