Chapter 1: Whispers Among the Branches

Mila stepped carefully between tangled roots, her boots damp from the morning dew. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the canopy, painting the mossy ground in shifting patterns. The forest pressed in on all sides, thick with the scent of earth and old leaves, until Mila felt as if she’d wandered into a green-walled dream.

She paused to listen. There—soft as breath, a murmur threaded through the hush. At first, she thought it was just the wind. But the sound curled around her name, almost—Mila. She turned, heart fluttering. No one in sight. Only the ancient trees, their bark ridged and dark, watching with silent patience.

Her pulse quickened. Was someone playing a trick? Or was the forest itself alive with secrets? Mila’s curiosity prickled, overcoming her worry. She pressed deeper, ducking under low-hanging branches, tracing the whispers as they drifted ahead, sometimes close, sometimes distant. Each step drew her further from familiar trails.

A flock of sparrows startled up as she brushed past a stand of brambles. Mila winced as a thorn snagged her sleeve. "Ow!" She glanced down; a thin red line beaded on her forearm. The forest seemed to hush, as if waiting. Mila took a steadying breath and pressed on, determined not to let a scratch turn her back.

The whispers grew clearer, threading through the leaves, weaving words she almost understood. “Come… closer… see…”

Mila’s skin tingled. She glanced back, half-expecting to see the path vanish behind her. The forest held its breath. She pressed her palm to a tree’s rough trunk. It was warm, thrumming faintly, as if something within was calling out.

“Is someone there?” Mila whispered, her voice small in the green silence. The murmurs swelled in reply, neither friendly nor frightening—simply old, and very present.

She followed the sound to a circle of birches, their white bark glowing in the filtered light. At the center, the moss was unnaturally lush, almost luminescent. Mila knelt, brushing her fingers over the soft green. The whispers paused, the air thick with anticipation.

She leaned closer. The moss beneath her hand quivered, and a pattern emerged—faint lines, like words or runes, written in the living green. Mila’s breath caught. What message did the forest wish to share? Or warn her about?

Shadows shifted at the edge of the clearing. A chill ran up Mila’s spine. She hesitated, torn between wonder and worry, as the whispers began anew, urgent and pleading.

Were the trees trying to tell her something—or summon her deeper still?

Mila looked up, heart pounding, as the forest seemed to lean closer, waiting for her next move.