The weight of the medallion in Lyra's hand was both grounding and ominous. Back at the inn, she sat by the faintly crackling fire, the box and medallion spread out before her on the rickety table. The symbols on both seemed to pulse faintly, as if reacting to each other, but Lyra couldn't make sense of them.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her dagger as she thought back to what had brought her to this cursed town.
It had started weeks ago, in a town far from Whisperwood. Lyra had been hunting a group of bandits terrorizing a small village, using the skills her mentor, Oran, had drilled into her over the years. Oran had been many things to her—a teacher, a protector, and, in many ways, the closest thing to family she'd ever known.
She'd been orphaned at a young age, her parents lost to a plague that swept through their village. It was Oran who had found her wandering the ruins of her home, a child too stubborn to die and too angry to cry. He'd taught her how to survive, how to fight, and, most importantly, how to listen to the world around her.
"It's not just steel that keeps you alive," Oran had told her once, his piercing green eyes locking onto hers during a training session. "It's instinct. The ability to feel danger before it arrives. That's the difference between living and becoming another name whispered in the wind."
Those words had guided her for years, and they were what led her to Whisperwood.
After dispatching the bandits, she'd been approached by an old woman in the village. The woman's eyes had been clouded with age, but her voice was strong, filled with urgency. She'd pressed a worn parchment into Lyra's hands, its surface covered in strange, jagged writing that Lyra didn't recognize.
"Whisperwood," the woman had said. "The answers you seek are there."
Before Lyra could question her, the woman had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her with more questions than answers. She'd shown the parchment to Oran, hoping he might make sense of it.
His reaction had been immediate—and alarming. He'd paled, his usually steady hands trembling as he traced the writing.
"Forget this," he'd said, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Whatever's in Whisperwood is better left buried."
"But you know what this is," Lyra had pressed, her stubbornness overriding his warning. "What aren't you telling me?"
Oran had sighed then, the weight of years settling on his shoulders. "It's not a place for you, Lyra. It's a trap. And if you go there, you may not come back."
But Lyra had never been one to back down from a challenge—or a mystery. She'd left Oran behind, ignoring the unease in his eyes as she set out for Whisperwood.
Now, as she stared at the medallion, she couldn't shake the feeling that Oran had known more than he'd let on. And if he'd been afraid of this place, it meant there was something here worth fearing.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Lyra was on her feet in an instant, dagger in hand, her senses alert.
"Who's there?" she called.
The door creaked open, and Kael stepped inside, his expression as grim as ever. He took one look at the medallion and cursed under his breath.
"You found it," he said, closing the door behind him.
"What is it?" Lyra demanded.
Kael hesitated, then sat across from her, his gaze heavy. "The medallion is a piece of the puzzle. The curse that binds this town isn't just magic—it's tethered to relics like that. Destroying them could weaken the curse... or make it worse."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "And you didn't mention this before because...?"
"Because I didn't think you'd get this far," Kael admitted. "Most people don't. They hear the whispers, see the shadows, and run. But you're different. You're... drawn to it."
His words struck a chord, and Lyra clenched her fists. "You think I don't know that? Ever since I got here, it's like this place is trying to get inside my head. The visions, the whispers—they won't stop."
Kael studied her for a moment, then leaned forward. "If you're serious about breaking the curse, you need to be ready for what's coming. The shadows aren't the only danger here. The deeper you go, the more the town will fight back."
"Let it try," Lyra said, her voice cold. "I'm not leaving until I get answers."
Kael nodded slowly. "Then you'd better get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll go to the archives. If there's any place that holds the truth about Whisperwood, it's there."
As Kael left, Lyra sat back down, her thoughts heavy. She ran her fingers over the medallion's surface, feeling the faint warmth beneath her fingertips. The whispers were quiet now, but she knew they were far from gone.
Somewhere in the depths of this cursed town, the truth waited for her. And Lyra intended to find it—no matter what it cost.