Chapter 77
The world was in shambles.
Three kingdoms stood in disarray, their rulers scrambling to find answers.
Why did the Dark Forest of Tivera catch fire?
Who, or what, set it ablaze?
What dangers now awaited in its ashes?
These questions echoed through every court and council, a steady drumbeat of fear and uncertainty.
The Dark Forest was no ordinary stretch of wilderness. For centuries, it had been shrouded in powerful and ancient magic, a place both revered and feared. Some whispered that it was the work of the gods themselves, a sacred space beyond mortal understanding. Now, its charred remains hung like a dark omen over the lands.
In the neutral city of Sintaria, the rulers of the three great kingdoms gathered for an emergency council.
The Draconian King, clad in gleaming red and gold armor, stood with his fists clenched, his fiery temper barely restrained. “This fire is no accident,” he declared, his voice rumbling through the hall. “We cannot sit idle while our people wonder if the gods have turned against us!”
The Elven Queen of Alinthor, her silver hair flowing like a river of moonlight, raised a hand for calm. “We must proceed carefully,” she said, her voice a measured counterpoint to the king’s anger. “If this fire is divine in origin, rash actions could make matters worse. We need clarity before we act.”
The King of Sintaria, a shrewd figure draped in neutral gray, leaned forward. “Which is why we’ve sent scouts,” he said, his tone sharp. “This forest has always housed powers we do not fully understand. If something—” he paused, his fingers steepled, “—was released, we need to know before it threatens our borders.”
The council agreed that the stakes were too high to ignore.
From each kingdom, a skilled scout was dispatched to uncover the truth hidden in the forest’s ashes.
Havel Dawnbreaker, a seasoned dragon-knight from Draconia, known for his ability to sense and manipulate magical auras.
Eryndra Velthelas, an elven tracker who could commune with the remnants of life, even in places touched by destruction.
Varek Talos, a Sintarian hunter whose expertise in arcane traps and precision tracking was unmatched.
Their mission: to uncover the fire’s origin and determine if it was natural, magical, or divine in nature.
The Dark Forest of Tivera had always been an enigma. Its boundaries marked the edge of what was known, a barrier between the mortal realms and forces far older. No kingdom had dared expand into its depths, afraid of incurring the wrath of the unknown.
Legends spoke of powerful beings sealed within the forest—gods, monsters, and entities that defied mortal comprehension. If the fire had weakened those seals, the consequences could be catastrophic.
The Draconian King’s voice broke the council’s heavy silence. “If a monster has awakened, no mortal army will stand against it.”
The Elven Queen nodded gravely. “Our ancient texts speak of beings born of shadow and flame. If even one of them has escaped…” She let the thought hang, unfinished but clear.
The Prime Minister’s voice was cold and calculating. “Which is why our scouts must succeed. The forest’s secrets must be unveiled—before it’s too late.”
But even as the kingdoms worked together, unease simmered beneath the surface.
Whispers of blame rippled through court corridors. Could a rival kingdom have set the fire, hoping to shift the balance of power? Could rogue mages have toyed with forces they didn’t understand? Or was this truly a sign of divine wrath?
The rulers kept these suspicions quiet, but the tension between them was palpable.
In the forest, the scouts moved cautiously through the charred landscape. Every step stirred ash into the air, the remnants of trees and life that once thrived here. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the crackle of lingering embers.
Eryndra knelt by a scorched tree, her fingers brushing against its brittle bark. “There’s still magic here,” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe.
Havel tightened his grip on his blade. “The fire wasn’t natural,” he said. “The energy is… too controlled, too precise.”
Varek scanned the area, his eyes sharp. “Controlled by who, or what?”
The answer remained elusive, but one thing was clear—the fire was no accident.
The longer the scouts searched, the more unsettling their findings became. The magical remnants felt old, far older than anything they had encountered before. And in the distance, faint shadows moved—shapes that vanished when approached, but left an undeniable sense of being watched.
“If something has awakened,” Havel said, his voice low, “it’s still here.”
Eryndra shivered, her elven senses alert to the forest’s unease. “We need to report back,” she said. “This isn’t just about the fire. There’s more to this.”
The three scouts exchanged tense glances before retreating, the weight of their discovery pressing heavily on their shoulders.
As the scouts returned to their respective kingdoms, the rulers braced for their reports. The silence that followed the fire’s devastation was deafening, each moment stretching into an eternity.
The people, too, waited in fear. What had once been whispered legends now felt dangerously close.
And in the heart of the forest, something stirred. Something ancient. Something powerful.
The fire had been only the beginning.
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Nestled at the very edge of the Dark Forest of Tivera, the small village of Tindara should have been the first to suffer when the forest burned. It was so close that the villagers had often heard the eerie howls and distant crashes of the monstrosities within. And yet, when the golden flames consumed the forest, not a single spark touched their homes.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Not a flick of flame reached their thatched roofs, not a single tree near the village smoldered. All they received was the ash—a fine, gray dust that settled over everything—and the thick, choking smoke that lingered for days.
The villagers were baffled. Some murmured that the gods had shielded them; others whispered that the forest, even in its destruction, had shown them mercy. But the unease in the air was palpable. Why had Tindara been untouched?
The village chief, an older man with a face weathered by years of toil, stood in the center of the village, addressing the gathered crowd. The faint glow of protective runes carved into doorways flickered in the dusk, their presence a comfort even if their power was uncertain.
“We’ve lived here for generations, closer to the forest than any other settlement,” he said, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “And yet, we’ve never faced harm. But this… this is different. The forest is gone, and I fear we don’t yet understand what it means.”
Murmurs rippled through the villagers, some nodding in agreement, others casting wary glances toward the darkened horizon where the forest once loomed. At night, they lit small charms made of bone and ash, whispering prayers to gods they didn’t name.
The people of Tindara had always lived with the knowledge that monstrosities roamed the forest. These were creatures of legend, spoken of in hushed tones by elders around flickering fires. But the monsters never ventured out, and so the villagers never dared to venture in.
Now, with the forest reduced to ash, the villagers couldn’t shake the feeling that something might have escaped. Something worse than any monster they’d ever imagined.
Some began to hang talismans over their doorways, while others patrolled the outskirts of the village, their weapons clutched tightly. Each creak of the wind through the ash-coated branches made them flinch.
But nothing came out of the forest—at least, not what they were expecting.
The one person who felt the weight of the forest’s destruction more than anyone was Till.
He sat on the edge of the village, staring out at the ash-covered horizon. His small hands clutched the bracelet Nyx had given him, its intricate design catching the last light of the setting sun. He had hidden it from everyone, along with the pouch of coins—treasures that were his only proof that she had been real.
The other villagers didn’t believe him when he told them about the strange, silver-haired girl who had saved him. They chalked it up to his exhaustion, saying he must have hallucinated in the forest’s chaos. But Till knew the truth.
“She was real,” he whispered to himself, tears welling in his blue eyes. “She helped me, and she… she cared.”
He remembered her kind smile, the way she had tended to his wounds, and the mysterious creature who had escorted him home. It all felt like a dream, but the weight of the bracelet around his wrist reminded him it wasn’t.
The day Till heard about the fire, he had cried uncontrollably.
“Do you think she’s alive?” he had asked the village chief, his voice trembling with desperation.
The chief, not understanding the full story, had placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If she is as strong as you say, Till, then she’s out there somewhere. But for now, focus on what’s here.”
But Till couldn’t focus. The thought of Nyx being gone was too much to bear. Every night, he would climb to the top of the tallest hill in the village and stare out at the forest’s remains, hoping for a sign.
The village of Tindara continued its life in quiet unease, mourning the loss of the forest in their own way. Some whispered prayers, others worked tirelessly to clear the ash from their fields and homes, and a few patrolled the borders with a newfound vigilance.
But for Till, the grief was personal. He didn’t just lose a mysterious forest; he lost the chance to see Nyx again, to thank her properly, and to repay her kindness.
One evening, as Till sat atop the hill, a strange glow caught his eye. Just beyond the edge of the ash-covered horizon, a faint, silvery light flickered for only a moment. His heart raced, and though it vanished as quickly as it appeared, hope flared anew in his chest.
“She’s still out there,” he told himself, clutching the bracelet tightly. “I know she is.”
Despite their uneventful days, the villagers couldn’t shake their fear. The forest had always been an enigma, its magic untamed. Now, its silence felt louder than its roar. They wondered if the gods were watching, if they had been spared for a reason—or marked for something worse.
And as Till kept his vigil, a quiet determination burned within him. He didn’t know how, but he vowed to find her again, even if it meant venturing into the remnants of the forest himself.
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Amid the chaos spreading across the kingdoms—panic-stricken debates, whispers of divine wrath, and endless questions—one group revealed the destruction of the Dark Forest of Tivera. To them, the fiery demise of the forest wasn’t a tragedy but a triumph, a divine affirmation of their purpose.
Hidden beneath the bustling streets of Sintara, a secret chamber pulsed with dark energy. Cloaked figures moved through the cavernous space, their faces obscured beneath heavy hoods. The scent of burning incense mingled with the damp air, and flickering candlelight danced across cold stone walls, casting shadows that seemed alive.
At the heart of the chamber, a massive obsidian altar loomed, its jagged surface carved with chaotic, intertwining symbols. At its center was a grotesque carving of a grinning skull, its hollow eye sockets faintly aglow with sinister light.
“Rejoice, brothers and sisters!” boomed a commanding voice that reverberated through the room. The speaker, draped in deep crimson robes, stood at the head of the altar, their presence commanding. The crimson fabric shimmered faintly as if alive with dark magic. “The forest burns, the ancient magics falter, and the barriers that once restrained us crumble into ash. Our god’s vision nears completion!”
A deafening chant erupted, the gathered zealots raising their arms in frenzied devotion:
“All hail the Crazy Skull, harbinger of chaos! All hail the unmaker of order!”
As the chant subsided, the leader’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding: “Report. How was the flames?”
A cloaked figure stepped forward, their head bowed low. “Master, the fire raged as planned, consuming vast swaths of the forest. No creatures escaped… but…”
“But?” the leader interrupted, their tone cold, a razor’s edge of warning in their voice.
Another figure hesitated before stepping forward. “Master, the fire was… extinguished before it could finish its work.”
A suffocating silence descended on the chamber. Even the flickering candles seemed to shrink under the weight of the leader’s fury.
“What?!” The leader’s voice thundered through the room, the walls trembling as their dark aura pulsed with unchecked power. Loose stones crumbled from the ceiling, and the gathered zealots cowered in unison. “Who dared interfere? Who stands in defiance of our god’s will?”
“We don’t know, master,” the first figure stammered. “Our scouts found traces of… divine interference, though faint. It seems to have weakened before fully extinguishing the flames. We are investigating further.”
The leader’s hands clenched into fists, their voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You had one task—to ensure the forest’s complete destruction. If a divine force stands in our way, it must be eradicated before it becomes a threat to our plans.”
“We are sorry, master,” another voice interjected quickly, their tone desperate. “We are following every lead. We will uncover who extinguished the fire and ensure they suffer for their defiance.”
The leader exhaled slowly, the oppressive aura slightly receding. Their tone shifted, icy but measured. “You had better. Failure is not an option. Do you wish to incur the wrath of our god for your incompetence?”
“No, master!” the gathered figures replied in unison, their voices trembling.
“Then do what must be done,” the leader hissed, straightening their posture. The crimson cloak shimmered ominously in the dim light. “Find the one responsible. Destroy the remnants of the forest. Ensure nothing remains to oppose the Crazy Skull’s divine chaos. Do not return until you have answers.”
“As you command, master!” The figures dispersed, their footsteps echoing as they melted into the shadows, their determination hardened by fear and purpose.
As the chamber grew quiet once more, the leader lingered at the altar, their gloved hand tracing the jagged edges of the grinning skull. They spoke softly, almost reverently:
“The Crazy Skull demands chaos,” they murmured, their voice dripping with zeal. “And chaos we shall deliver. No force—divine or mortal—will stand in our way. The forest was just the beginning.”
They reached into their robes and pulled out a golden dagger, its blade etched with glowing, jagged runes. With a swift motion, they plunged it into the altar, and the room pulsed with a wave of dark energy.
“The next phase begins now. Prepare the world for the unmaking of order.”
Far above, Sintara hummed with life, oblivious to the darkness brewing beneath its streets. Beyond the city, the ashes of the Dark Forest of Tivera lay silent—but only for now. Embers of something far more sinister smoldered, waiting to reignite.
And as the cult worked in the shadows, the Crazy Skull’s vision was already beginning to unfold.