The Forest of Astram was alive in a way most would never understand. It pulsed and breathed with magic, its roots and branches a delicate web of connection, each leaf a vessel for the forest’s quiet power. Nimrielle knelt in the soft loam of a grove, her hands working deftly to weave the fronds of a Whispervine into a protective lattice. The vine shivered under her touch, mimicking faint human whispers—an instinctual defense against predators. Nim hummed softly, a wordless melody to calm the plant as she worked.

Her porcelain skin caught the dappled light filtering through the canopy, giving her an ethereal glow. She moved with practiced care, her delicate fingers precise as she coaxed the vine into compliance. But even as she worked, a subtle unease prickled at her awareness.

The grove was quieter than it should have been. The usual rustle of leaves and distant calls of Flickerfoxes were muted, replaced by an unnatural stillness. Nim paused, her head tilting slightly as she strained to listen.

A faint ripple passed through the ground, and the Whispervine trembled beneath her fingers. Nim froze, her thoughts immediately turning to the Etherlings—wraith-like creatures that fed on the forest’s magic. She glanced around, her gaze darting to the shadowed edges of the grove, but saw no movement.

‘It could be nothing,’ she told herself, though the thought did little to calm her.

The unease followed her as she returned to her dwelling, a modest hut nestled in the embrace of the forest. It had been Yeva’s once, before the old hedge witch passed and left everything—her home, her role, and her expectations—to Nim.

Inside, the space was both familiar and foreign. The shelves brimmed with jars of herbs and potions, their faint scents mingling in the air. A small hearth sat cold and unlit, its stones darkened with soot from years of use. Nim’s gaze lingered on the worktable, where Yeva’s hands had once moved with the confidence of decades.

She ran a hand along its surface, feeling the faint grooves left by Yeva’s tools. The memories were a comfort and a weight.

Nim moved to a chest in the corner, pulling it open to retrieve a small bundle. Inside were Yeva’s notes, carefully preserved recipes, and an amulet crafted from a fragment of Astram crystal. Nim held the amulet up, watching the light refract through its surface.

Yeva’s voice echoed in her memory: “The villagers won’t trust you at first, but you’ll prove yourself, Nim. You’re more than what you were made to be.”

The words were a source of both strength and doubt. Nim wasn’t sure if she could ever be what Yeva had envisioned, but she couldn’t ignore the call to try.

She gathered her belongings with methodical care, placing the amulet around her neck and tucking the notes into her satchel. A soft rustling outside drew her attention, and she stepped to the doorway.

The forest seemed to watch her, its ancient presence both comforting and distant. She reached out, resting a hand on the bark of the nearest tree.

“I’ll protect you,” she murmured. “Even from afar.”

The tree’s branches shifted faintly in response, though whether it was the wind or the forest itself, Nim couldn’t tell.

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By the time she reached the forest’s edge, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the land. Beyond the treeline, the village of Cedorin lay quiet, its narrow streets and timbered homes bathed in golden light.

Nim hesitated, her porcelain fingers brushing the strap of her satchel. This would be her first step into a world that had always regarded the forest—and everything tied to it—with suspicion.

Taking a steadying breath, Nim stepped out from the trees. A farmer working nearby stopped mid-motion, his hoe clattering to the ground as he stared. Others turned, their expressions shifting from confusion to unease as they spotted her.

Whispers followed her as she walked, the weight of their gazes pressing against her like the lingering stillness of the forest. But Nim kept her head high, her stride purposeful as she approached the village.

The cobblestones were cool beneath her feet as she reached the edge of the square. For a moment, she paused, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar faces and buildings.

‘I can do this,’ she thought, clutching the amulet at her neck.

The forest’s whispers seemed to fade behind her as she took her first step into the unknown.

Nim stood in the center of the village square, the whispers of curious and wary onlookers brushing against her awareness like a breeze. Her porcelain face remained composed, but inside, the weight of their gazes lingered. She didn’t blame them for their hesitation; after all, she wasn’t human, and her connection to the Forest of Astram marked her as an outsider.

Her attention shifted to a modest building at the edge of the square. Its weathered sign, painted with a faded depiction of a sprig of herbs, identified it as the village hall. Yeva had mentioned it often, calling it the heart of the village where all matters of importance were discussed and decided.

Drawing a steadying breath, Nim adjusted her satchel and approached the hall.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly scented with woodsmoke. A long table dominated the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers and jars of preserved plants. At the head of the table sat an older man, his shoulders broad and his face lined with the marks of years spent in the sun.

“Cedoric,” Nim said, her voice soft but carrying an even tone. She had heard his name many times from Yeva—a pragmatic man who valued the village above all else.

Cedoric looked up from the ledger he was examining, his gray eyes sharp but not unkind. He studied Nim for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he set down his quill and gestured to a chair across from him.

“Yeva told me about you,” he said simply. “Sit.”

Nim obeyed, lowering herself into the chair with careful precision. She folded her hands in her lap, her porcelain fingers resting lightly against each other.

“She said you would come,” Cedoric continued, his voice steady but edged with weariness. “That when she was gone, you’d take up her place.” He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually do it.”

“I promised her,” Nim replied. Her voice was calm, but the words carried a quiet conviction.

Cedoric nodded, though the furrow in his brow deepened. “The villagers are... wary. You’ve seen that already, I’m sure. They respected Yeva, but even then, her connection to the forest made some uneasy.”

Nim inclined her head. “I understand.”

“You’ll have to prove yourself,” he said bluntly. “Not just as a healer, but as one of us. The people here don’t trust easily, and the forest is more of a threat to them than an ally.”

“I will do my best,” Nim said. Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “I know I’m not Yeva, but I want to help.”

Cedoric regarded her for a moment longer before nodding. “Then you’ll have your chance. I’ve already prepared a space for you—the old storage hut near the square. It’s not much, but it’s a place to start. I’ll send word to the villagers that you’re available for healing.”

“Thank you,” Nim said, her porcelain voice steady.

Cedoric rose from his chair, his movements deliberate. “We’ll see how things go, Nimrielle. For now, take some time to settle in. The village isn’t quick to welcome strangers, but if you’re patient, they’ll come around.”

He paused, his gaze softening slightly. “And if you ever need guidance, you can come to me.”

Nim stood as well, dipping her head in gratitude. “I will. And... thank you again.”

Cedoric gave her a curt nod before turning back to his ledger, and Nim left the hall, her thoughts heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.

The storage hut Cedoric had mentioned was as modest as he’d warned, but it was clean and sturdy. Nim stood in the doorway, surveying the space. The walls were bare, and the furniture sparse: a small cot, a wooden table, and a single shelf.

It would take time to make it her own, but Nim was used to working with what she had. Setting her satchel down on the table, she began unpacking her supplies: jars of herbs, neatly bound bundles of plants, and Yeva’s handwritten notes.

As she worked, the sound of faint footsteps outside caught her attention. She turned, her porcelain gaze meeting that of a young girl standing hesitantly in the doorway.

“Are you... the new healer?” the girl asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I am,” Nim replied gently.

The girl stepped closer, clutching a small bundle of cloth in her hands. “My little brother’s sick. Mama said to wait, but... I thought maybe you could help.”

Nim’s expression softened. “Let me see him.”

And with that, Nimrielle’s work in Cedorin quietly began.