The boundary stood starkly defined.
On one side lay the familiar woodlands of Aetheria—tall, healthy trees painted in vibrant greens, sunlight filtering through their leaves in dusty, golden streams of warmth.
On the other hand, it was as if a splash of ink had soaked the canvas: everything was grotesquely contorted and misshapen.
The trees there bent forward, branches knotted like demonic claws, draped in slimy black moss that wept foul-smelling sap in slow, repulsive drops.
The air was viscous as swampwater—every inhalation reeking of sickly rot, and something indescribably rank, like rusted metal fused with decaying flesh.
Light here was miserly and strange, as though devoured by an unseen maw, leaving only a dim, sickly green glow writhing among the contorted branches.
Raine Morningstar stood on the threshold, his complexion drawn and pale, fingers tightening instinctively around the star-shard at his belt.
The fragment felt ice-cold, yet faintly trembled in his grasp, as if echoing the ominous land before him.
Beside him, Thalia Nightwhisper was shrouded in a black cloak, revealing only the elegant line of her jaw and the set of her tightly closed lips.
Her pallor surpassed even his—nearly translucent, tiredness flickering deep in her eyes.
She gazed into the Corrupted Wood with a complex expression—part recognition of a familiar adversary, part resignation to an unbreakable fate.
Karrion Ironforge, the dwarven rune-smith, cut a far rougher figure.
He shouldered his rune-etched war-axe, his thick beard quivering, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the nauseating stench.
"Ah, lovely spot," Karrion rasped, his voice a gravelly chuckle. "Fresh air, lovely scenery—ideal for… well, perfect for folks looking for a permanent rest."
He cracked a grin he considered humorous, an attempt to break the suffocating silence.
Raine did not react, his eyes fixed on the forest's depths as though he could pierce its layered darkness.
Thalia merely tilted her head, gave Karrion a single, indifferent glance, and offered no hint of amusement.
The dwarf's jest landed like a stone in an abyssal mire—no ripple disturbed the gloom.
Karrion scowled, stroking his nose as his beard bristled.
"Fine, I'll drop the jokes," he growled, expression hardening. "There are countless tales about this cursed wood.
"Supposedly, the corruption first spread from this very spot.
"No one returns from the heart of the forest, and those who come back… aren't quite themselves anymore."
He paused, as if recalling some dreadful legend.
"They say the forest can devour your soul, whispering your greatest fears to lure you in.
"And some claim it is alive—a vast, ravenous entity filled with malice.
"Of course, the wildest say a gate lies buried deep within, leading… well, to somewhere far worse."
His tone dropped with dwarven gravity, like recounting an age-old saga by firelight.
For once, his words stirred a subtle current in the air.
Raine's brow furrowed more deeply.
Thalia's gaze flickered, as if Karrion had touched upon truths she recognized.
"Let's go," Thalia spoke first, her voice cool yet faintly urging.
She made clear she wouldn't linger a moment longer.
She crossed the invisible line, stepping into the corrupted wood.
The ground beneath her feet shifted immediately.
Solid earth gave way to a slick, spongy texture, like walking on rotting moss.
Raine swallowed his unease and followed closely.
Karrion muttered some dwarven curse, hefted his axe, and trailed after.
With that single step, they entered another realm entirely.
Sunlight and warmth were instantly cut off, replaced by damp chill and the omnipresent stench of decay.
Gnarled trees formed a canopy so dense it swallowed the sky—shreds of light pierced it, dancing on the ground like restless phantoms.
The silence was horrifying—no birdsong, no insect calls—only the occasional plop of sap dropping like pus, and the unnatural wail of wind through twisted branches.
They had not gone far when they met the forest's first "inhabitants."
On the ground, bizarre fungi writhed slowly across the soil.
Their forms were grotesque—some resembled bloated human hands, others pus-ridden tumors, all cloaked in a slick, bioluminescent film.
Karrion jabbed one cautiously with his axe handle.
It recoiled violently, splitting open to release a plume of pale yellow, acrid-smelling smoke.
"Careful!" Thalia warned, yanking Raine back as she retreated in perfect fluid motion.
Karrion raised his arm instantly, shielding his face.
Where the smoke settled, sizzle erupted—fallen leaves dissolved into black, putrid holes.
"Poisonous," Karrion snarled, dropping his arm and eyeing the still-smoking earth with distaste. "Deadly stuff."
Raine shuddered—had Thalia not reacted so swiftly, he might have inhaled the toxins.
He glanced at Thalia to thank her, but saw only her impassive gaze fixed ahead, as if her rescue had been a trifling matter.
They pressed on.
Beetles the size of fists, their compound eyes oozing black pus like molten tar, crawled sluggishly over rotting roots.
Spiders with too many joints bore distended, translucent abdomens, within which dark motes seemed to writhe.
Though sluggish and weakened, the malevolence radiating from these creatures chilled the marrow in one's bones.
Thalia appeared to possess a peculiar attunement.
She always sensed danger before it arrived.
At times, she halted to gesture them around eerily quiet zones.
Other times, she pointed them away from concealed threats.
She spoke seldom—communication flowed through gestures and glances.
Though Raine and Karrion harbored doubts, they ended up trusting her instincts.
After all, in this twisted forest, she navigated far more adeptly than either of them.
After some distance through a tangle of black vines, Raine jerked to a halt—sudden, searing pain stabbed at his temples.
It felt as though a searing iron spike bored into his skull.
He groaned and staggered, nearly crumpling to the ground.
"Raine?" Karrion steadied him, his rough palm oddly warming. "What's wrong?"
Raine pressed his head, realising the once-cold star-fragment now warmed against his side, channeling chaotic energy into his mind.
His skull felt on the verge of splitting.
Worse still, voices began to echo within.
Not the physical sounds of the wood, but whispers lodged in his very thoughts.
They were disjointed, malevolent, maddening.
As though a thousand tortured souls screamed, wept, cursed—or an ancient evil murmured through them all.
The whispers came and went, indistinct yet eerily familiar.
Amid them, a faint, warped call emerged.
It sounded like his name—or perhaps something else entirely.
That summons resonated horrifyingly with the voice of his sister he'd heard in the star-fragment's visions.
It was no longer a plea for rescue.
But an invitation—cold, inhuman, luring him.
"No…" Raine growled, shaking his head fiercely in a bid to dispel the invasive whispers.
His face drained further of color, cold sweat beading on his brow.
"The wood's enchantment," Thalia whispered beside him—her tone frigid, yet laced with concern. "Focus. Guard your mind."
Raine gritted his teeth and forced himself to follow her counsel.
He summoned the last vestiges of his star-blood, forging a mental barrier to stem the tide of malicious whispers.
The headache eased, but the voices lingered at the edge of his mind like coiled vipers, poised to strike again.
"This place is worse than any tale," Karrion observed, glancing warily around as he gripped his axe. "We need to find shelter—fast."
Night fell swiftly over the Corrupted Wood, black as spilled ink.
The last sickly glow vanished, plunging the forest into utter darkness.
Only the strange fungi and moss glimmered with an unsettling phosphorescence.
They discovered a relatively dry, elevated rock ledge, cleared away the corrupted undergrowth, and established a makeshift camp.
Karrion sparked a small fire with his flint and dwarven fuel, the flames cracking in the oppressive stillness.
The dancing flames banished a shred of cold and darkness—and gifted a sliver of comfort.
Yet even this light felt constrained by the forest's malign influence, illuminating only a scant circle; beyond lay tangible, suffocating gloom.
Karrion produced some tough dwarf-rations and a small flask of ale, passing them to Raine and Thalia.
Raine had no appetite—he nibbled mechanically at his rations and sipped water.
His headache persisted—not as fierce, but the sensation of being watched, of whispers encircling him, remained.
He looked across the fire, where Thalia silently polished the Starfire Blade.
The dim blaze outlined her pale profile; her long lashes cast delicate shadows beneath her closed lids.
She appeared thoroughly exhausted, her movements slower than usual.
"A—are you alright?" Raine finally asked, hesitation betraying his concern.
Thalia paused her polishing, lifted her head, and met his gaze.
Her eyes remained calm, almost vacant.
"I'm fine," she replied softly, so soft the fire crackle nearly drowned her out. "But you… You were in grave peril."
Her concern, Raine noted, carried a distinct sense of separation.
As though she reported an observation, not genuine worry.
"Those whispers…" Raine frowned. "Can you hear them too?"
Thalia was silent for a long moment before shaking her head.
"I sense the forest's malice—but not the whispers you describe," she said, lowering her gaze to the blade. "Perhaps it's linked to your star-blood."
Raine's heart skipped a beat.
"What does star-blood mean in this forest?" he pressed. "And you, Thalia—you know this place well. Who are you, and what do you know?"
He realized they could not go on like this.
Partners with a common goal, yet divided by an invisible barrier.
Such mistrust, in a place this perilous, could prove fatal.
Thalia halted her polishing.
She lifted her gaze to Raine; her black eyes, fathomless in the firelight, betrayed no emotion.
Silence enveloped the camp.
Only the crackling fire punctuated the dark.
Karrion sipped his ale on the sidelines, ears perked to their exchange, yet he remained wordless.
After what felt like ages, Thalia spoke at last.
"Knowing too much won't help you, Raine," she said evenly, yet with unquestionable finality. "Some secrets are best left buried.
"You need only know we share a single purpose—and that must suffice."
Having said her piece, she turned away and once more focused on her sword.
Raine watched her closed lips and unwilling posture, a surge of helplessness—and a flicker of anger—swelling within him.
A shared purpose?
Perhaps.
But could such a fragile, mistrust-steeped bond truly carry them through this treacherous wood to the even greater perils of the Fallen Star City?
He did not know.
The fire danced, lighting each of their troubled, silent faces.
Somewhere in the forest's depths, something seemed to open its eyes, watching the intruders in utter silence.
Unease wove itself around each heart like the forest's endless vines.