The morning sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of Nimrielle’s hut, casting faint, wavering patterns over the walls. She stood by her workbench, her delicate hands sorting through sprigs of Silverleaf and Marrowthistle. Each motion was deliberate, precise—a small ritual to ground herself before stepping back into the uncertain embrace of the Forest of Astram.

Outside, her garden stood quiet, rows of neatly arranged medicinal plants swaying in the breeze. Despite her isolation, Nim had managed to nurture this patch of life into a modest oasis. As she knelt to inspect the roots of a Sunroot plant, she frowned. The edges of the leaves had begun to curl, their golden hue dimming to a sickly yellow.

‘It’s spreading faster than I thought,’ she mused, plucking a leaf for further study. The corruption wasn’t just in the deep woods anymore. It was creeping closer, more insidious than she had anticipated.

Nim rose, brushing dirt from her hands, and turned toward the forest. Her satchel hung heavy on her shoulder, filled with vials, notes, and tools for foraging. Today, she would search for Astram Ivy and Duskwither Petals, rare plants that might help craft a stabilizing potion.

The forest greeted her with an uneasy stillness. Birds no longer sang their lilting melodies, and even the wind seemed reluctant to stir the branches. Nim adjusted her satchel and stepped carefully, her boots sinking into the loamy soil. She noted the changes as she walked: patches of moss growing pale, streams running slower and darker, and trees leaning as if burdened by an invisible weight.

She paused by a patch of Skybud, its usual vibrant blue petals wilted and drooping. Kneeling, she examined the soil, pressing her fingers into the damp earth. ‘It’s not lacking nutrients,’ she thought, her brow furrowing.

A faint fluttering sound drew her attention. She turned to see a Lumimoth hovering unsteadily nearby, its glow dim and uneven. Its wings were tattered, one side trailing uselessly as it struggled to stay aloft.

Carefully, Nim extended a hand. “Easy now,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. The moth landed, trembling, in her palm. Its faint warmth sent a pang of sorrow through her. She reached into her satchel and retrieved a small vial of restorative salve, dabbing it gently onto the moth’s wings.

The creature seemed to revive slightly, its glow steadying. It lingered in her hand for a moment before taking flight, its path deliberate as it headed toward a shadowy section of the forest.

Nim hesitated, watching the moth disappear into the distance. ‘That’s not normal,’ she thought, unease prickling at the edges of her mind. Adjusting her satchel, she decided to follow.

The trail led her to a clearing she hadn’t seen before, its center dominated by a withered expanse of ash-like remnants. Trees stood as skeletal silhouettes, their bark blackened and their branches bare. The ground beneath them was cracked and dry, as though every ounce of life had been drained away.

At the clearing’s heart lay a faint scar in the earth, pulsing with a dim, sickly light. Nim stepped closer, the whispers she had grown accustomed to now a cacophony in her mind. She clutched her satchel tightly, her breathing shallow.

The air here felt heavy, oppressive, as though the clearing itself were alive and watching her. She knelt by the edge of the scar, her fingers brushing the soil. It felt wrong—cold and lifeless, crumbling at her touch. She retrieved a small vial and carefully collected a sample.

As she stood, she became acutely aware of a presence. It was distant yet tangible, an unrelenting gaze from the shadows beyond the clearing. She turned quickly, her heart pounding, but saw nothing.

‘I shouldn’t linger,’ she thought, her nerves fraying.

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Her journey back to the hut was weighed down by the forest’s silence, each step a reminder of the corruption’s spread. She felt the unease follow her, as though the forest itself were reluctant to let her leave.

When she reached her hut, the familiar surroundings did little to comfort her. She placed the samples and notes on her workbench, lighting a lantern to chase away the growing dusk. The scar’s image remained vivid in her mind, a grim reminder of how much work lay ahead.

As she began sorting through her findings, her resolve hardened. ‘No one else will fix this. If they won’t help me, I’ll do it alone,’ she thought, her fingers trembling slightly as she crushed a dried Marrowthistle leaf into powder.

The whispers of the forest were quieter here but not absent. They lingered at the edge of her senses, a constant reminder of the task before her. Nim worked late into the night, her mind racing with possibilities, her determination unwavering.

The morning light filtered weakly through the shutters of Nim’s hut, but its warmth did little to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. She sat on the edge of her cot, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring blankly at the small table where her journal and tools were scattered. The events of the previous day refused to let her rest, their weight pressing against her like a storm cloud.

'I should have done more,' she thought, her gaze drifting to the faint smudge of soil still clinging to her fingers. The scar in the earth—the wound she’d uncovered in the forest—was a vivid image in her mind. It had felt wrong, unnatural, and yet… alive in its corruption.

The forest's whispers had been faint through the night, too fragmented to make sense of. They tugged at her even now, urging her to return to the clearing. 'It won’t wait for me to be ready. The forest needs me now.'

With a heavy sigh, she rose and began preparing for the day.

Nim worked methodically, pulling jars of herbs and vials of tinctures from her shelves. She prepared a satchel of supplies: her journal, a Luckroot Amulet tucked safely into a small pouch, and a handful of potions she had crafted over the years. She hesitated over her notes on corrupted soil and unstable magic, the pages marked with hurried scrawls and half-formed ideas.

On her workbench, a faintly glowing salve shimmered in its clay container. She had crafted it late into the night, a mixture of Glowspore extract and diluted Astram Ivy meant to counteract the corruption’s spread. She wasn’t sure it would work, but it was better than nothing.

As she secured the salve into her bag, her eyes fell on her small garden visible through the window. Her breath caught. Several plants—healthy and thriving just days before—were now drooping, their leaves darkened with a sickly hue. Even the hardy Sunroots seemed affected, their golden flowers curling inward.

Nim’s fingers trembled as she traced the frame of the window.

The journey into the forest was quieter than Nim expected. The usual symphony of birdsong and rustling leaves was muted, replaced by an eerie stillness. Each step felt heavier than the last, her senses attuned to the faintest sound or movement around her.

As she approached the path to the clearing, she paused to examine a cluster of Glowspore Mushrooms growing along the base of an ancient oak. Their faint luminescence had dimmed, and their stems looked brittle. Carefully, she collected a few into a small container, noting the faint black veins running through them.

Further along, she came across a stream she had crossed many times before. At first glance, it appeared normal, its gentle current weaving through the forest. But as she knelt to fill her waterskin, the water briefly reversed direction, swirling cloudily before resuming its natural flow. Nim recoiled, her heart pounding.

'The balance is fracturing. I need to move faster.'

The clearing loomed ahead, its edges marked by withering plants and claw-like etchings in the soil. The scar itself seemed larger than before, its faint pulse more pronounced in the dim light. Nim hesitated at the edge, her pulse quickening.

The whispers were louder here, fragmented and broken. They didn’t form coherent words, but their urgency was clear. Nim knelt, her fingers brushing the soil around the scar, searching for clues. Her gaze caught faint tracks leading toward the clearing—Etherling tracks, though smaller than the ones she’d seen before.

She set to work, pulling her journal and tools from her bag. The corrupted soil samples she had collected the day before were carefully compared to the new ones, her notes filling rapidly with observations.

The forest felt different today. The air was heavier, the light dimmer, as if the corruption were seeping into every corner of this place. Nim’s hand shook as she uncapped the salve and spread a thin layer along the edge of the scar. The glow of the salve dimmed briefly before stabilizing.

'It’s holding,' she thought, a flicker of hope sparking within her. But it was fleeting.

A faint rustle at the edge of the clearing drew her attention. Nim froze, her eyes scanning the shadows. Slowly, a small Etherling emerged from the treeline, its translucent form flickering like a dying flame.

It was smaller than the ones she’d encountered before, its shape less defined, as though it hadn’t fully formed. But its presence was unmistakable, and its gaze fixed intently on the scar.

Nim remained still, her breath caught in her throat. The Etherling didn’t move closer, instead circling the scar with an almost curious air.

'Why is it here? Is it drawn to the corruption? Or… is it part of it?'

The whispers around her surged, chaotic and insistent. Nim’s grip on her journal tightened. She debated her options—should she act, or retreat and return better prepared?

But the Etherling made the choice for her. With a flicker of motion, it darted toward the scar, vanishing into its depths. The pulsing light dimmed for a moment, then flared brighter than before.

Nim staggered back, her thoughts racing. The forest's whispers fell silent.

By the time Nim returned to her hut, the weight of the day pressed heavily on her shoulders. The scar was growing, the corruption spreading faster than she had feared. And the Etherling… its connection to the scar was undeniable, but she didn’t yet understand its purpose.

She placed her satchel on the table and sank into her chair, exhaustion overtaking her. Despite the mounting danger, a flicker of determination burned within her.

The forest outside her window swayed gently, its whispers faint but ever present.