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Aetheris Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Whispers of the Forgotten
The night sky stretched infinitely above Elara, scattered with stars that shimmered like distant, dying embers. The forest around her was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Shadows danced along the edges of her fire, cast by the gentle flicker of the controlled flame she had conjured. She sat cross-legged on a rolled-out mat, her back pressed against a sturdy tree, absently stirring a small pot of stew over the flames.
It had been three days since she had left Veldorim, and exhaustion was beginning to creep into her bones. Even with a horse, the journey to Havenmoore, the small town of whispered legends, would take six days. But something about this town gnawed at her curiosity—a persistent itch in the back of her mind that refused to fade.
She flipped open a leather-bound journal, its pages brittle with age, its ink faded but still legible under the warm firelight. She traced a gloved finger over a passage that had piqued her interest days ago:
"Havenmoore—once a thriving town, now merely a fragment of what it once was. Ruins lie beneath its soil, swallowed by time. The people there do not speak of what sleeps below. Perhaps they do not wish to wake it… or perhaps they already have."
Elara exhaled, shaking her head. "Dramatic nonsense, or something worth investigating?" she murmured to herself before taking a slow bite of her stew.
Despite her exhaustion, she could feel the familiar thrum of excitement within her. It wasn’t just the possibility of uncovering something—it was the unknown itself that pulled her forward. The scholars back at Veldorim had always dismissed lore like this as mere superstition, the desperate myths of people too afraid to accept the mundane truth of their world.
But she knew better.
Leaning back, she glanced at her horse, a sturdy black mare she had named Vela, who was tied to a nearby tree. The animal snorted, flicking its tail as if annoyed by the cold night air.
Elara let out a soft chuckle, stirring her food absentmindedly. "I suppose you don’t care for old ruins and forgotten whispers, huh?" she mused aloud.
Vela huffed.
She smiled, then flipped through the journal again, her fingertips brushing over sketches of unfamiliar symbols. Whoever had written this book had done so in fragments, each page feeling like a disjointed thought, a desperate attempt to record something before it was forgotten.
One passage stood out, sending an odd chill up her spine:
"We should never have dug so deep. The ruins beneath Havenmoore are not silent. They speak. They listen."
Elara closed the book with a quiet thud, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Now, that is interesting."
Her mind raced with possibilities. Was this merely the paranoia of an old traveler, or did something truly rest beneath Havenmoore? Were the ruins real? And if so… what lay beneath them?
She chewed on her lip thoughtfully before shaking her head. "Only one way to find out."
With that, she downed the rest of her...
The night sky stretched infinitely above Elara, scattered with stars that shimmered like distant, dying embers. The forest around her was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Shadows danced along the edges of her fire, cast by the gentle flicker of the controlled flame she had conjured. She sat cross-legged on a rolled-out mat, her back pressed against a sturdy tree, absently stirring a small pot of stew over the flames.
It had been three days since she had left Veldorim, and exhaustion was beginning to creep into her bones. Even with a horse, the journey to Havenmoore, the small town of whispered legends, would take six days. But something about this town gnawed at her curiosity—a persistent itch in the back of her mind that refused to fade.
She flipped open a leather-bound journal, its pages brittle with age, its ink faded but still legible under the warm firelight. She traced a gloved finger over a passage that had piqued her interest days ago:
"Havenmoore—once a thriving town, now merely a fragment of what it once was. Ruins lie beneath its soil, swallowed by time. The people there do not speak of what sleeps below. Perhaps they do not wish to wake it… or perhaps they already have."
Elara exhaled, shaking her head. "Dramatic nonsense, or something worth investigating?" she murmured to herself before taking a slow bite of her stew.
Despite her exhaustion, she could feel the familiar thrum of excitement within her. It wasn’t just the possibility of uncovering something—it was the unknown itself that pulled her forward. The scholars back at Veldorim had always dismissed lore like this as mere superstition, the desperate myths of people too afraid to accept the mundane truth of their world.
But she knew better.
Leaning back, she glanced at her horse, a sturdy black mare she had named Vela, who was tied to a nearby tree. The animal snorted, flicking its tail as if annoyed by the cold night air.
Elara let out a soft chuckle, stirring her food absentmindedly. "I suppose you don’t care for old ruins and forgotten whispers, huh?" she mused aloud.
Vela huffed.
She smiled, then flipped through the journal again, her fingertips brushing over sketches of unfamiliar symbols. Whoever had written this book had done so in fragments, each page feeling like a disjointed thought, a desperate attempt to record something before it was forgotten.
One passage stood out, sending an odd chill up her spine:
"We should never have dug so deep. The ruins beneath Havenmoore are not silent. They speak. They listen."
Elara closed the book with a quiet thud, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Now, that is interesting."
Her mind raced with possibilities. Was this merely the paranoia of an old traveler, or did something truly rest beneath Havenmoore? Were the ruins real? And if so… what lay beneath them?
She chewed on her lip thoughtfully before shaking her head. "Only one way to find out."
With that, she downed the rest of her...
