The morning light barely reached through the thick, ominous clouds that hung low over Cedorin. A heavy, unnatural stillness clung to the air, the world held in suspense. Nim stirred from her slumber, the cold air seeping through the walls of her hut. The fire she’d left burning the night before had long since died out, leaving behind only the bitter chill. As she rose, the weight of the frost outside pressed upon her, more intense than it had been before.

She moved toward the window and peered out, her gaze drawn to the unnatural snowflakes drifting down from the sky. The flakes were large, almost too large, swirling with an eerie, quiet dance as if the world itself had forgotten how to breathe. ‘This is wrong,’ Nim thought, her brow furrowing as she stepped away from the window. The frost wasn’t just in the forest anymore—it had crept into the very air. The whole village seemed suffocated beneath it, and the oppressive stillness was unsettling.

For a moment, Nim stood frozen in the middle of the room. 'I need to keep going. I need to find more answers.'

She bundled herself up, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, and made her way toward the forest. The snow underfoot crunched with each step, the silence of the village pressed down heavily on her shoulders. Even the birds had gone quiet. The world was still, almost as if waiting.

The deeper she ventured into the woods, the more unsettling the scene became. The trees, which once stood tall and proud, were now bent low under the weight of the frost. Their branches hung like fragile, broken limbs, covered in a thick, crystalline layer of ice. Plants she had often relied on—Silverleaf, Skybud, Marrowthistle—lay withered and dormant, their once-vibrant leaves now gray and brittle.

Nim knelt by a patch of silvered leaves, brushing the frost off them with the edge of her sleeve. The plant’s essence had dimmed, its signature hum quieter than it should have been. As she inspected the patch more closely, she felt something more troubling—there were faint signs of corruption in the soil beneath the leaves. It was as if something in the earth itself had been tainted.

Her hand trembled slightly as she straightened up. The frost, the corruption—it was all too much. ‘Something is poisoning the land. I can feel it,’ she thought, her heart quickening with unease. She glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting something to appear from the shadows of the forest.

But there was nothing. Only the swirling snow and the muffled silence of a forest slowly dying.

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It was when she had ventured deeper, closer to the heart of the forest, that she encountered him—Varan Desirik. The reclusive woodsman had always been a figure of mystery, his long, wild hair and weathered cloak blending with the forest like a shadow. His pale eyes caught the faintest glimmer of light as he watched her approach, standing still among the trees, his gaze unreadable.

“Nimrielle,” he greeted her, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable weight.

“I didn’t expect to find you out here today, Varan,” Nim said, her breath coming out in clouds as she met his gaze.

Varan's expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed as he looked past her, toward the swirling storm in the sky. “The frost grows stronger,” he said, his voice almost a murmur, as if to himself. “It is not of the forest’s making. Something… or someone is provoking it.”

Nim’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

Varan shook his head slowly, his long fingers twitching as if he were resisting an unseen pull. “The balance has been disturbed. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?” He nodded toward the snowflakes falling around them, each one eerily large and unnatural. “These are not the storms of the seasons. They are a warning.”

Nim’s mind raced as she glanced around. “A warning? Of what?”

“The Heartstone is not the only thing in peril,” Varan replied, his voice tinged with something like regret. “The forest is in a battle it cannot win alone. And you, Nimrielle... you must decide whether you will help or become part of the cause of its undoing.”

Before Nim could respond, Varan reached into the folds of his cloak and produced a small bundle wrapped in dried leaves. He handed it to her with a quiet intensity, pressing the package into her hands. “These herbs may guide you on the path you need to take. But be warned—the answers you seek may come at a price.”

Nim looked down at the bundle, then back at him. “What price?”

Varan’s gaze darkened for a moment before he gave a slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I cannot say. But you’ll know when the time comes.”

He stepped away from her then, moving into the shadows of the trees with a grace that almost seemed otherworldly. “Take care, Nimrielle. The storm is gathering.”

Nim stood alone in the clearing, the bundle of herbs weighing heavy in her hands. The forest around her seemed to breathe in unison with her unease. It was as though every tree, every stone, every whispering leaf was warning her of something—something she wasn’t ready to face.

She tucked the bundle into her pouch, resolving to study it later, and began her trek back toward the village.

As she passed through the edge of the forest, the first signs of movement from the village came into view. Figures walked by, their heads down, their movements stiff. Nim felt their eyes on her, but they quickly looked away. The silence between them was deafening.

The tension in the air was palpable as she passed by Garrin, who was standing with Cedoric near the village’s center. He didn’t greet her, but she saw the flicker of something between them—something unspoken. The weight of their judgment hung over her like a dark cloud.

Her heart tightened, but she pressed on. She could not afford to dwell on their coldness.

Back at her hut, Nim laid the bundle of herbs out on the table, examining them carefully. There was a strange, faint glow about them, almost as though they were alive in a way she couldn’t explain. As she touched one of the leaves, she felt a strange pulse—subtle, but undeniable.

‘What is this?’ she thought, her mind swirling with the weight of it all. The storm outside seemed to echo the growing unrest in her own chest.

There was no easy answer. But one thing was clear—Nim was no longer just a healer. She was something else now, something deeper and far more entwined with the fate of the forest.

The frost outside pressed in closer.