The frost had grown heavier overnight, blanketing the village and forest alike in a crystalline stillness. From the window of her hut, Nim watched as the morning sun refracted across the white-dusted trees, casting delicate patterns on the ground. It was beautiful, but unsettling. This level of frost was unseasonable, even for Cedorin, where winter often lingered well into spring.

Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, Nim stepped outside, her breath puffing into the frigid air. The village was quiet. Only the faint creak of a shutter swinging in the breeze broke the silence. She could feel the eyes of the villagers on her from behind drawn curtains, their stares like needles against her back.

She had grown used to their suspicion, but today it felt sharper, colder, as if the frost had seeped into their hearts. Nim turned away from the village, her gaze falling on the forest. ‘If I wait for their trust, the forest might die,’ she thought, her resolve hardening. Whatever was happening, she would uncover it on her own.

The forest was a different world under the frost. Patches of ground crunched beneath her boots, and branches sagged under the weight of ice. Nim moved carefully, her senses attuned to the subtle changes she had been noticing over the past days. The hum she had heard before was faint now, but still present—a distant vibration that seemed to echo from deep within the woods.

As she ventured further, the anomalies became more pronounced. She paused by a frozen patch of ground, kneeling to inspect it. The frost here was denser, a stark contrast to the surrounding area. Running her fingers over the ice, she felt an unnatural chill that sent a shiver up her spine.

Further along, she noticed scars on the bark of several trees—long, jagged lines that bore no physical cause. They weren’t claw marks or the result of lightning. They were...wrong.

‘The forest is trying to tell me something,’ she thought, brushing her fingers against one of the scars. ‘But what?’

The wildlife, too, seemed affected. Nim spotted a Lumimoth flitting through the trees, its normally vibrant glow flickering dimly like a dying ember. She reached out a hand, murmuring a soft spell to calm it, but the creature veered away erratically, disappearing into the underbrush.

A group of squirrels caught her attention next, their small bodies darting around a tree hollow. Nim watched as they hoarded objects into the hollow—bits of bark, rocks, even scraps of cloth. None of it was food. The scene left an uneasy knot in her stomach.

Deeper in the forest, she felt the weight of a gaze on her. Turning, she spotted a stag standing at the edge of a clearing. Its eyes glowed faintly, an unnatural luminescence that made her breath hitch. It stared at her for a long moment before bounding away, its hooves silent against the frozen ground.

Nim eventually found herself in a secluded clearing she hadn’t visited in months. Here, a patch of Silverleaf plants thrived, their silvery-green leaves shimmering softly despite the frost. She knelt to collect them, taking care not to damage the roots. The sight of them, untouched by the forest’s corruption, brought a rare sense of calm.

As she worked, she noticed something curious. When the leaves came into contact with the glowing fungi in her satchel, they shimmered more brightly, almost as if reacting to the fungi’s presence.

Nearby, her gaze fell on a cluster of darkened roots tangled beneath the frost. They pulsed faintly, as if alive. Cautiously, Nim reached out and touched one.

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The world shifted.

For a brief moment, she was no longer in the clearing. She stood in the Grove, the fractured Heartstone before her. Its cracks spread wider now, faint tendrils of darkness seeping from within. The hum she had been hearing roared to life, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through her very core.

The vision faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Nim gasping for breath. She stumbled back from the roots, her heart pounding.

‘It’s getting worse,’ she realized, clutching the Silverleaf tightly. ‘I don’t have much time.’

By the time she returned to the village, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the frost-laden ground. As she approached her hut, she noticed villagers hurrying to avoid her, their faces averted. Their distrust was palpable, an invisible wall that seemed to grow taller with each passing day.

Nim ignored them, her focus narrowing to the task ahead. Inside her hut, she spread the Silverleaf on her worktable, arranging the leaves alongside the fungi and other samples she had collected. She lit a small lamp, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the room.

Sitting down, she began to write in her journal, her hand steady despite the weight of her thoughts. On a fresh page, she wrote a single goal:

Understand the hum. Protect the forest. Restore balance.

Closing the journal, she leaned back in her chair, the faint hum from the forest still echoing in her ears. She was alone, but she wouldn’t let that stop her.

Morning came slowly, the pale light barely cutting through the frost-laden haze that hung over Cedorin. Nim stirred from her restless sleep, her breath visible in the cold air of her hut. The fire in the hearth had long since burned out, leaving the room chilled to the bone. She sat up, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, and glanced toward the small table where her gathered plants lay in neat rows.

The Silverleaf shimmered faintly even in the dim light, its silvery-green hues a stark contrast to the dull glow of the fungi she had collected. They were her starting point, the only tangible clue she had to combat the spreading frost and forest corruption.

‘No one will help me, but that’s fine,’ she thought, her resolve solidifying. ‘I’ll figure this out myself.’

The morning passed in quiet experimentation. Nim crushed a single Silverleaf between her fingers, its essence releasing a soft, herbal scent that momentarily cut through the musty air of her hut. She worked carefully, her tools precise, mixing the Silverleaf extract with a diluted essence of the glowing fungi. The mixture emitted a faint hum, the sound resonating low and steady, reminiscent of the one she had heard in the forest.

Pouring the mixture into a small glass vial, she placed it near the frost creeping along the edge of her windowsill. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the frost began to recede, retreating from the vial like a wary animal. Nim leaned closer, her breath catching.

‘It’s working,’ she thought, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. But as quickly as it began, the frost halted its retreat, the air growing unnaturally cold. The hum from the vial faltered, its glow dimming until it extinguished entirely.

Frustration bubbled within her, but she forced herself to remain calm. This was progress, even if it wasn’t the breakthrough she had hoped for.

By midday, Nim decided she needed more ingredients to continue her work. She stepped outside, her boots crunching against the frost-coated ground. The village remained as still as it had the day before, the few villagers she glimpsed avoiding her gaze.

She turned toward the forest, the air growing heavier as she approached its edge. The frost here was thicker, almost suffocating. Trees that once stood tall and proud now drooped under the weight of ice, their branches sagging like mournful sentinels.

Nim moved cautiously, her eyes scanning for signs of usable plants. As she ventured deeper, the anomalies became harder to ignore. Mushrooms grew in unnatural clusters along the base of a tree, their caps dull and ashen. A small stream she frequented ran sluggish and murky, its once-crystal-clear waters clouded with an oily sheen.

The hum she had grown accustomed to felt different now—louder, more insistent, like a warning. It wasn’t just the forest speaking to her; it was pleading.

Her foraging took her near the village outskirts, where she spotted Garrin, the farmer, gathering firewood. He glanced up when he saw her, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” Nim offered softly, her voice carrying no malice, only the tentative hope of a truce.

Garrin nodded curtly but didn’t respond, his hands tightening around the bundle of sticks he carried. He turned away, his movements stiff, and began walking back toward the village.

The encounter left a hollow ache in Nim’s chest, but she pushed it aside. ‘They’re afraid. I can’t blame them for that,’ she told herself, though the words felt hollow.

By the time she returned to her hut, the sun was beginning its descent, casting long, cold shadows over the frost-laden ground. Nim laid out her gathered plants on the table, carefully arranging them alongside her earlier samples. She lit a lamp, the soft glow filling the room with a faint warmth, and opened her journal.

Her entries were precise, detailing the results of her experiments and the signs she had observed in the forest. She wrote about the strange scars on the trees, the erratic behavior of wildlife, and the unnatural frost that showed no sign of abating. On a fresh page, she jotted down a single question:

What is the forest trying to tell me?

As she finished her notes, she set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, staring out the window. The frost outside seemed thicker than ever, creeping closer like an encroaching tide. She felt its weight pressing against her, the village’s distrust amplifying the isolation she already felt.