Morning broke gently over the Forest of Astram, with sunlight filtering through the thick canopy in fractured, golden beams. Nimrielle sat at her modest worktable, carefully sorting through the few herbs and supplies she still had. The Heartvine fragment rested in a small, glass-topped container nearby, its vibrant tendrils faintly pulsating. Her delicate fingers hesitated over it.

‘I’ve only delayed the inevitable,’ she thought, a pang of frustration rippling through her. ‘One fragment won’t save the forest.’

She turned her focus back to her preparations. A small satchel lay open on the table, half-filled with tools: pruning shears, a mortar and pestle, and a handful of empty vials. Next to it sat a cloth-wrapped parcel of bread Isira had brought days before. Nim’s gaze lingered on it for a moment too long.

‘Why bring this now?’ she wondered, the faint ache of doubt twisting in her chest. ‘Guilt, or pity?’

Pushing the thought aside, she rose and slung the satchel over her shoulder. The day would not wait for her feelings to settle.

The forest greeted her with an unusual stillness. Though the morning was cool and crisp, the air carried a faint sharpness that made her skin prickle. She paused at the edge of the Grove, her gaze sweeping across the towering trees.

At first glance, everything seemed ordinary. Yet, as Nim ventured deeper, she noticed the signs—small, almost imperceptible changes. A cluster of ferns drooped unnaturally, their edges tinged with grey. The moss beneath her feet felt dry and brittle, crumbling at her touch.

‘The forest is weakening,’ she realized, kneeling to examine the ferns.

She documented her findings in a small journal, her notes precise and methodical. Each observation weighed heavier on her mind, and with every step, her connection to the forest felt thinner, as if muffled by an unseen barrier.

By midday, Nim reached a patch of wild herbs and began gathering them carefully. Silverleaf and Marrowthistle grew in sparse clusters, their usual vibrancy dulled. She tucked them into her satchel.

It was then she spotted it—a single stalk of Whisperstem, swaying gently in a breeze she could not feel. The delicate plant shimmered faintly, its presence both beautiful and unsettling.

‘Whisperstem shouldn’t grow here,’ Nim thought, her brows knitting in concern. She knelt, her hands hovering above the plant as she studied its roots. The soil around it felt wrong—loose and oddly warm, as if something beneath had disturbed it.

She hesitated before harvesting the stem, ensuring her touch was gentle. The plant resisted slightly, its faint shimmer dimming as she placed it in a protective vial.

As the afternoon stretched on, the forest grew unnaturally quiet. The usual hum of insects and distant calls of birds had faded entirely, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves. Nim’s unease deepened with every step.

She stopped abruptly at the base of a gnarled tree. Deep, jagged claw marks scored its trunk, their edges fresh but faint. She traced them lightly with her fingers, her thoughts racing.

‘These aren’t from the Etherling in the Grove,’ she realized. ‘Something smaller, but just as unnatural.’

The silence broke suddenly with the faint flutter of wings. Nim turned to see a Lumimoth hovering nearby, its glow flickering like a dying ember. Its movements were erratic, as though it struggled against an unseen force.

Her instincts took over. She whispered the incantation for Whispering Roots, her hand brushing the soil as she called upon the forest’s magic.

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Roll: Critical Success (20)

The roots responded immediately, weaving gently through the air toward the moth. They shimmered faintly, their energy calming and steadying the creature. The Lumimoth’s flickering subsided, its glow returning to a steady, serene light.

It lingered for a moment, its wings brushing against her outstretched hand, before flitting away into the trees. Nim watched it go, relief mingling with unease.

‘The forest can still respond,’ she thought, her determination hardening. ‘But something is straining it—something I need to find.’

By the time Nim returned to her hut, the sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the village outskirts. Her satchel was heavier with the day’s findings but lighter than she had hoped. She set the Whisperstem carefully on her worktable, its faint glow illuminating the room.

As she sorted her gathered herbs, she paused to glance at the bread Isira had brought. It remained untouched.

Outside, the forest remained silent, its unease creeping ever closer.

The morning air was still, as though the forest held its breath. Nimrielle stirred, her fingers brushing against the faintly glowing Whisperstem on her worktable. The soft light it emitted the night before had dimmed, its energy sapped. She tilted her head, running her fingers over the delicate stems, her porcelain skin catching the morning light.

'It’s weakening faster than I thought,' she mused, the thought laced with unease. The once-bright aura of the Whisperstem was now a pale flicker. The plant had always been a reliable connection to the forest’s magic, but even its resilience was faltering. She placed it gently back on the table and turned to her satchel.

Her thoughts drifted to the claw marks etched into the gnarled tree she had encountered yesterday. There was something deliberate about them—something primal yet intelligent. 'If it left marks that close, it’s only a matter of time before it comes closer.'

Nim packed her supplies carefully, her movements deliberate. A small vial of the salve she crafted earlier, a few preserved Skybud petals, and a simple talisman for protection were all she could afford to carry. Her hands lingered on the talisman as she whispered, “Not much, but it’ll have to do.”

As she stepped outside, her gaze flickered briefly toward the distant outline of Cedorin Village. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the only sign of life. She shook her head. 'They don’t need me. And I don’t need them.'

The path into the forest felt colder today. Each step brought her deeper into a realm that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. The trees, once welcoming, now loomed overhead, their branches twisting unnaturally. Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet, louder than they should have been.

It wasn’t long before she noticed the subtle signs again. Patches of undergrowth wilted unnaturally, as if the life had been drained from them. Bark peeled from trees in long, ragged strips, exposing veins of blackened wood beneath. Her fingers brushed over one such tree. The corruption pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of something far away.

“This isn’t natural,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers itched to cast a spell, to force the forest to reveal its secrets, but she resisted. The forest didn’t respond well to force—it never had.

Hours passed before she stumbled upon the clearing. The sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy, casting the area in a dim, otherworldly glow. At its center, a small creature struggled. Vines, blackened and brittle, coiled around its tiny form.

The creature’s translucent skin shimmered faintly, betraying its nature—a forest spirit. Its small, deer-like body shivered as it weakly tugged at the restraints. Nim’s heart ached at the sight.

'This is what the corruption is doing,' she thought bitterly, stepping closer. The spirit’s wide, luminous eyes locked onto hers, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said softly, kneeling beside it. Her fingers brushed the talisman at her belt as she began to whisper the incantation for Whispering Roots. Her voice carried the spell’s cadence, and the forest around her seemed to hold its breath.

She cast the spell, feeling the magic hum beneath her fingertips.

Roll: Critical Success (20)

The vines recoiled instantly, unraveling with an almost sentient retreat. The spirit let out a soft trill as it scrambled to its feet, its injuries already fading. The magic had worked flawlessly, the corruption yielding to the spell without resistance.

Nim extended her hand cautiously. The spirit hesitated before nudging her palm with its delicate nose. Warmth spread through her as a faint glow enveloped them both. The spirit’s trill became a gentle hum, a sound of gratitude.

Before she could say more, the spirit bounded a few steps away, pausing to glance back at her. Its gaze lingered, almost beckoning her to follow. But before she could react, it vanished into the trees, leaving behind only faint, glowing footprints that faded quickly.

Nim lingered in the clearing, her thoughts swirling. 'It was leading me somewhere,' she realized, but the thought of continuing alone made her hesitate. The forest felt more alive now, but not in a way that comforted her.

She traced her steps back, marking the faint trail the spirit had revealed. The corruption grew thicker in this direction—dead branches littered the ground, and the air carried a heavy, acrid scent. It was clear she was nearing something dangerous.

Her steps faltered as she reached an area where the corruption felt overwhelming. The ground beneath her boots was soft, decayed, and the trees around her groaned faintly as if burdened by their own weight. A rhythmic pulse echoed faintly in her ears, almost imperceptible but impossible to ignore.

'This is too much for now,' she thought, biting her lip. 'I need to prepare before I come back. This isn’t just an isolated sickness—it’s something deliberate.'

The journey back to her hut was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the faint whispers carried on the wind. Her mind churned with possibilities, each darker than the last. The spirit’s gratitude had bolstered her resolve, but the corruption she had seen today weighed heavily on her.

When she reached her hut, she wasted no time documenting her findings. Her handwriting was neat but hurried, each word a testament to her growing determination.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in hues of orange and violet, Nim stood by the window of her hut. Her gaze fixed on the treeline, where the spirit had vanished.

“I’ll fix this,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest. “No matter what it takes.”

The forest seemed to murmur in response, a faint echo of its former self, as the night closed in around her.