The ground pulsed.
Elowen lay still beneath the willow tree, her breath shallow, her skin clammy with cold sweat. The moment her blood had touched the twisted roots, the earth had shifted—like something old and buried had stirred below.
She could still feel it. A soft hum beneath her spine. Not sound, but vibration. A rhythm.
A heartbeat.
Slow. Ancient. Waiting.
She sat up, her hands trembling. Her fingers were streaked with blood, the shallow cuts on her arms glowing faintly—silver veins pulsing through her skin like threads of moonlight. The pain was fading now, but in its place, a strange warmth curled beneath her ribs.
It was not comfort. It was warning.
She looked around. The forest remained frozen in its silence, the mist curling like breath from invisible lips. The willow above her creaked softly, though there was no wind.
"Elowen..."
She froze.
The voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade through silk. It was not spoken aloud. It was inside her head—woven into her blood, echoing through her bones.
"Elowen... come deeper."
Her name. How did it know her name?
"Who are you?" she whispered aloud, though she already knew the forest would not answer in words.
Still, something shifted again. The roots beneath her fingers twitched. Not wildly—just enough to be felt.
Then, a crack opened in the earth.
Right beneath the tree.
Elowen stumbled back as a narrow hole split the soil, roots tearing apart like threads of an old cloth. A cold wind rose from it—damp, earthy, heavy with rot and memory. And yet... the pull she had felt since waking grew stronger.
She should run.
She didn't.
Something deep inside her had begun to awaken, and it was no longer afraid of shadows.
She took a step forward. Then another.
The hole was just wide enough for a person to climb into. Blackness filled its mouth. And somewhere far below, she heard the sound again—the heartbeat, slow and steady, like a drum calling her home.
Elowen gripped a twisted root and began to descend.
The soil was damp. Cold mud clung to her palms as she slipped into the earth, the roots tangling like hair around her arms. She breathed slowly, carefully, each motion echoing in the narrow space. The deeper she went, the louder the pulse became. Not just a sound anymore—it was a presence. Watching her. Measuring her.
After what felt like hours, her foot touched stone.
She stood in a cavern—small and round, the walls made of glistening black rock. Glowing moss curled along the ceiling like faint green fire. At the center of the chamber, tangled in thick white roots, was a stone face.
A statue.
No, not just a statue.
It was weeping.
A single black tear trailed from the statue's left eye, and where it fell, the stone below hissed and cracked. The roots coiled around its head like a crown—its mouth slightly open, as if frozen mid-scream.
"Elowen..."
The voice again. But now it was clearer, coming from the statue itself. A whisper carved into stone.
"You were hidden… to protect what sleeps. But pain has brought you back."
She stepped closer, her hand trembling as she reached out. Her fingers touched the cold cheek of the stone figure—and suddenly—
Darkness.
A rush of memories not her own.
Fire.
A throne of bone.
A man cloaked in stars, screaming as his skin turned to light.
A blade of silver plunging into his heart.
A voice calling out her name—mother's voice.
She stumbled back, gasping. Her knees hit the ground.
"Who are you?" she breathed.
The statue's eyes glowed faintly. Beneath her, the earth rumbled.
"We are the ones beneath the root. The ones forgotten. You, daughter of blood and thorn, are the last who can break him."
"Break who?"
"The God who was man. He who cursed the forest. He who waits to wear your skin and rule the world as flesh again."
Elowen's heart pounded. She didn't understand. She didn't want to.
But the blood inside her understood. It burned with knowledge buried too long.
The forest was not just cursed. It was a prison.
And she—she was the key.
The statue's mouth moved again, just barely.
"You must find the three marks... before he does. They lie where moonlight does not reach. One in bone. One in flame. One in dream."
"Why me?" she whispered.
"Because only your pain can awaken them."
And then—the roots around the statue shuddered violently. A loud crack echoed through the cavern. The moss flickered, the earth groaned, and from above, the echo of something heavy—footsteps—grew louder.
He had found her.
Elowen turned and scrambled back up the tunnel, her hands slipping, her lungs burning. The voice behind her cried one last time:
"He walks again, Elowen! He remembers your name!"
She emerged from the hole just as the mist above thickened, turning dark and heavy. Across the clearing, the cloaked figure in the golden mask stood once more. Closer now.
Too close.
And this time, it spoke.
"Welcome home, daughter."