Chapter 3 — Echoes of the Past

Riley Thorn

The moon hung low over the village of Edgewood, its pale glow spilling through the narrow windows of Riley’s cabin. The sounds of the day—chopping wood, murmured conversations, and the distant howls of wolves—had faded into the quiet hum of the night. Riley sat alone in her father’s study, her chair pulled close to the desk where a single lantern flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The room, untouched for years, carried the faint scent of parchment and cedarwood, mingling with the bitter tang of ink that lingered in the air.

She ran her fingers over the worn leather covers of her father’s journals, neatly stacked but layered with dust, as though the years had pressed them into silence. Each book carried the weight of an untold story, a chapter of his life he had never shared with her. The discovery of these journals, hidden in a false compartment beneath the desk, had left her both exhilarated and uneasy. Her father had always been distant about his research, deflecting her questions with vague reassurances or quiet smiles. Now, she felt as though she were peeling back the layers of a man she had only known in fragments.

Opening the first journal, she found the writing dense but precise—a steady hand capturing thoughts, observations, and something deeper: fear. The entries revealed a man who had walked the thin line between reverence for the forest’s power and a growing dread of what that power could cost. He wrote of the forest’s whispers, the way they seemed to carry messages only he could decipher, and his desperate attempts to protect Riley and her mother from an unseen threat.

*“The balance falters. The forest grows restless. I fear the whispers no longer guide but warn. The Shadow Spirit’s corruption was only the beginning.”*

Her breath caught. The Shadow Spirit—its name alone brought back memories of the battle, the way its presence had twisted the forest into a nightmare of shadows and despair. She had thought its defeat had marked the end of that chapter. But her father’s words suggested otherwise, as if the Spirit’s influence had left scars not just in the forest but in the very magic that sustained it.

She brushed her fingers against the crescent moon pendant resting against her chest. Its warmth, once a comfort, now felt faint and unsteady, as though it too bore the strain of the forest’s imbalance. A memory flickered in her mind—her father placing the pendant around her neck when she was a child, his voice steady as he told her it would always keep her connected to the forest. That connection now felt fragile, as if the forest itself were pulling away.

Riley turned the page, her heart pounding louder with each sentence.

*“I sought them out. The Crimson Hunters. There were no other options.”*

She froze. The words swirled in her mind, refusing to settle. Her father—her steadfast, idealistic father—had gone to the Crimson Hunters. The very mercenaries now camped at the forest’s edge, cloaked in crimson and wielding rune-carved weapons. Opportunists who thrived on exploiting magic and chaos. What could have driven him to such desperation?

The next entry offered a glimpse of his reasoning:

*“They promised salvation but demanded too much. To save her, I would have to sacrifice the forest. Its magic, its life—everything. I couldn’t do it. But even as I refused, I knew I had already risked too much by approaching them at all. They know. They know too much.”*

Her hands trembled as the implications unfolded. Her father had sought the hunters to save her mother. A desperate act, born of love, but at what cost? What had he been forced to give up—or expose—just by seeking them out? And what had the hunters gained from him that they could use now?

A sharp knock at the door broke through her thoughts. She stiffened in her seat, the room suddenly feeling too small, too silent. But after a moment, the sound of retreating footsteps told her whoever had come had left. She exhaled deeply, the interruption pulling her back to the present, to the weight of the journals lying before her.

Returning to the desk, she opened another journal. The lantern’s flame flickered wildly as though stirred by an unseen wind. The whispers in the room grew louder, pressing against her mind like a tide threatening to overwhelm her. The pendant against her chest turned icy cold.

The entry before her was dated only days before her father’s death. The ink was smudged in places, written in haste—or fear.

*“The forest knows what I’ve done. It watches. It waits. I hear it in the wind, see it in the light that pulses through the trees. I thought I could protect her, protect them both. But I was wrong. The forest demands balance. It will not forgive. Riley must never know the cost. She must never face what I have faced.”*

Tears blurred her vision. She could feel the anguish in his words, the unbearable weight of the choices he had made. For so long, she had idealized him—his strength, his wisdom—but now she saw the cracks in that image. He had been just as fallible, just as vulnerable, as anyone else. Was she any different? Would she make the same desperate choices if it meant saving those she loved?

The whispers in the room sharpened, almost accusatory now, like a thousand unseen voices passing judgment. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.

“Enough!” Her voice broke the silence, firm and defiant. “If you have something to say, then say it!”

The whispers retreated into an uneasy stillness. The pendant at her chest pulsed faintly, as if in response. Riley glanced around the room, her hazel eyes glinting gold in the lantern light. The stillness pressed down on her, the weight of her father’s secrets and the forest’s judgment threatening to crush her resolve.

She closed the journal, her hands flat against the desk as she drew in a deep breath. Whatever the whispers wanted, whatever the forest demanded, she would confront it on her terms. Her father had carried this burden alone, but she would not. She had allies—Elias, Kieran, Lila—and together they would face whatever was coming.

Gathering the journals into a leather satchel, she slung it over her shoulder and cast one last glance at the study. Her father’s presence lingered here, a phantom of memory and regret. A flickering image came to her mind: her father smiling softly as he showed her how to carve the intricate crescent symbol that now adorned her pendant. She allowed the memory to linger for a moment, a reminder of the man who had loved her fiercely, even as he made impossible choices.

As she stepped into the cool night air, the forest loomed in the distance—a vast, sentient entity, pulsing with life and mystery. The whispers returned, faint and cryptic, carrying a single word that sent a chill down her spine.

*“Remember.”*

Riley tightened her grip on the satchel, her jaw set with determination. The forest may have its secrets, but so did she. And she was determined to uncover them all, no matter the cost.