The season passes, and my bears grow strong—no longer cubs, but mighty companions. Our bond deepens with each hunt, each quiet evening beneath the stars. My shelter expands into a true homestead, fortified and sacred, encircling the crystal that pulses with quiet light.
One spring afternoon, the wind shifts. I catch the scent of woodsmoke—sharp and foreign. Voices follow, distant but clear. I move through the trees, silent with the bears beside me. Three human figures emerge from the forest's edge, clad in leather and mail, armed and cautious. Their eyes scan the clearing, drawn toward the shimmer of my crystal.
I step forward to reveal myself, voice booming with welcome. "Travelers, are you hungry? You're welcome to lodge with me tonight. I don't get much company. Where are you from?"
They startle. Hands fly to hilts. But then surprise overtakes alarm. The central figure—a woman with keen eyes and a braided crown—lowers her hand slowly. She studies me and the bears at my side.
"By the Ancestors," she breathes. "We weren't expecting company. And such — hospitality." She glances at her companions, two weary men, both relaxing slightly. "We're from Oakhaven. Seeking a lost trail. And yes," she adds with a faint smile, "we're quite famished."
"Help yourselves," I say, gesturing to the fish laid out near the fire. "The river is generous. Tell me more of Oakhaven—and this trail you're following."
Her eyes brighten. "Fish would be a blessing." She waves her companions forward. They approach, still wary of the bears. "Oakhaven sits where the Oak River meets the Whisperwood. A city of trade and craft—though not as free as its name suggests." She sighs, taking a piece of fish. "We're tracking Elara, an elder and scholar. She came here weeks ago, chasing rumors of ancient power. She hasn't returned. We feared beasts… but now, seeing you here, hope stirs."
I narrow my gaze. "She didn't happen to wear a cloak and serve the darkness, did she?"
Her brow furrows. "A cloak and darkness? No. Elara is a seeker of knowledge, not a servant of shadow. Her cloaks are embroidered, vibrant. Why do you ask, Master of the Crystal?"
"My home is dedicated to all that is holy," I say. "And I've seen those who would defile it."
She holds my gaze. Silence settles. Her eyes drift to the crystal. "I see," she says softly. "This place feels… ancient and pure. The forest hides many secrets, and not all who seek them are pure of heart." She pauses. "Perhaps Elara's search led her somewhere darker than she intended. Are there others who would defile this sanctity?"
"I can't say," I reply. "But I'm here to help—so long as your intentions are noble."
She nods, relief flickering in her eyes. "Noble intentions are all we carry. We seek only to find Elara and protect any knowledge she uncovered. These woods are bountiful—but dangerous. Any guidance would be a kindness."
"Unfortunately, I'm no tracker," I admit. "But you're welcome to lead the way."
She smiles. "Then lead we shall. Perhaps your companions can aid us." She turns to her group, then back to me. "Elara's last notes mentioned the Whispering Falls—a place of ancient spiritual power. She believed it held a crystal nexus tied to old legends." Her gaze flicks to my crystal. "Your insight may be invaluable. We should follow the river upstream."
"The Whispering Falls," I say, voice grim. "I know this place... Follow me."
I lead the way. My bears pad silently beside me. The travelers follow, their faces marked by curiosity and growing unease. The river's gentle gurgle grows louder, swelling into a roar. The gorge narrows. Mist thickens. We arrive.
The sealed Maw stands before us—boulders piled high, my protective symbol etched into the stone. The air carries a faint acrid tang, a ghost of the rituals once performed here. A growing anxiety boils within me *I hope I didn't lock her up inside…*
"This is the place," I say, my unease bleeding through my composure. "Is there something you need here? Unfortunately, if you don't know how to use something, that thing is essentially useless."
The woman, her eyes scanning the immense pile of rocks and debris, looks from the crudely carved symbol on the central boulder to your face, then back again. "This... this is certainly a place of immense power," she shouts over the roar of the falls, a note of awe in her voice. "Elara's notes spoke of a 'fissure of raw earth energy' at the base of the Whispering Falls, a nexus for rituals. It seems she found it. And this symbol..."
My brow furrows thinking of the logistics of this all. *She knew about the fissure, she came here and wrote about how she saw it filled in, mentioned my symbol, returned home to leave her journal behind and now they are all here thinking she returned…* My suspicion that this Elara person was one of the cultists significantly grows.
The woman's eyes meet mine. "You are right. Without understanding, power is indeed useless, even dangerous. Did you... did you encounter anyone else here, perhaps someone matching Elara's description?"
"I've met others," I say. "But if you've been truthful, it wasn't her. I've only seen men come here."
Her shoulders slump. "Only men?" she echoes, voice tinged with worry. "Then Elara must've taken another path… or met another fate." Her gaze returns to the sealed entrance. "Were these men involved with the forces you spoke of? The ones who defile?"
"Yes," I say. "They were bad men. They wouldn't speak. I don't know where they came from—they're dead now."
Her eyes widen. She exchanges a grim look with her companions. "Dead," she murmurs. "Then our fears weren't unfounded. Elara is wise—but perhaps not wary enough."
I take a stance close to my bears expecting this lady to reveal herself as a servant of the shadow any second now.
She continues. "If you've dispatched those who sought to defile this place, you've done a great service. We must consider what she may have uncovered before they arrived."
I slowly nod once, not knowing what to think of her. "Lead the way."
The woman nods in return, a glint of renewed purpose in her eyes, and there's something new growing within her — she appears to admire me, throwing me off guard. She scans the gorge and the dark woods beyond. "If Elara isn't here, and those unsavory elements have been dealt with, then we need to retrace her steps or consider her other interests."
She points to a high ridge above the river, less traveled and steep. "Elara often spoke of ancient standing stones and ley lines—places where knowledge converges. There's a cluster marked on her maps, deep in the Whisperwood. It's a difficult climb, but one she would've taken."
I hold out my hand. "After you."
We begin the ascent. My frame moves easily over the steep terrain, years of wilderness carving strength into every step. My bears follow close. They are quite agile despite their size. The climb is hard, but we crest the ridge soon enough. The roar of the falls fades behind us. The air grows still. Light filters through a canopy of ancient trees. Moss and leaves soften the ground beneath our feet.
The woman from Oakhaven is winded but determined. She keeps pace. Her eyes scan the woods, searching for signs. The other two, however, don't appear to share her dedication. It seems clear they are just waiting for her to give up so they can go home.
As we press forward the forest grows unsettlingly quiet. The trees grow taller, their branches weaving a dense ceiling overhead. Sunlight breaks through in scattered patterns. The path fades into the undergrowth. Few have walked here.
I pause. "Do you want to keep going, or turn back to Oak City?"
She stops and faces me. Her eyes are weary, but burning with resolve. "Turn back? Not while Elara's fate is unknown. We've come too far. She wouldn't abandon her research. We must reach the standing stones. It's our best hope."
She gestures forward. "Are you with us?"
"I'm still with you," I say. "But I'm growing doubtful. These woods are dangerous. My bears aren't the only wildlife out here."
Her gaze softens. She looks at the bears, then back at me. "You're right. Elara is wise—but she's no warrior." Grief flickers across her face, then hardens into resolve. "But doubt is a luxury we can't afford. If she's alive, she needs us. If not, we owe her the truth. Her work could matter."
She breathes deep. "We press on. The longer we wait, the colder her trail grows."
We carry on and as we walk, she finally shares her name—"Shineah," she says, her name soft against the wild hush of the forest. It suits her. Strong and clear. "And these are my brothers, Kael and Finn." They nod curtly, their eyes wary.
I taste he name on my tongue. "Shin-neah… My name is Tormack. Are you single?"
Awkwardly, she rolls her eyes and nods.
I don't press, but the thought lingers. I've been out here a long time. No friendly contact. No warmth beyond the fire and the bears. Her presence is… welcome. More than welcome. And—she treats me—like a person.
I am a half-orc and my skin looks like a pale human. However, when most humans look at me, they only see my long pointed ears and my short tusks that protrude upward on the edges of my mouth. All they see is the orc in me and treat me with disdain—automatically treating me like a brute and a thief. It is hard for me to fit in anywhere. It isn't just the humans that reject me either. Orcs tend to have green skin and when they look at me, they see me as a weak human slave.
Shineah's brothers Kael and Finn keep their distance. I see it in their eyes—the way they glance at my tusks, the tension in their shoulders. They don't trust me and they don't hide their discomfort. But Shineah… she's different. She's charmed by my hospitality, my diligence. She walks beside me, asking questions—not formal, but curious. Her voice is warm. I do my best to enjoy what's become— an escorted date. Nonetheless, I remain vigilant and keep one eye on my bears. They'll sense danger before I do.
Shineah offers a tired smile, brushing a red braid behind her ear. Her gaze remains sharp, focused despite the long journey. I don't say much, but I walk beside her—she walks with a steady posture, her presence grounding. There's a quiet strength in her, and I welcome it. As we continue through the Whisperwood, the forest grows older, quieter. The air hums with stillness and light dims beneath the thickening canopy.
Eventually, we arrive. Three colossal stones rise before us, rough-hewn and towering. They form a triangle, smooth and bare, untouched by moss. Whispering sounds emanate from them, low and resonant.
I wonder, "Are these the same kind of glowing stones I built my home around?"
Shineah steps forward, voice hushed. "No, these are different. Your crystal radiates warmth and light. These… they absorb it." Her eyes widen. "Elara believed they were conduits—ancient places of power that hum with the world's deep magic."
My bears growl low, uneasy. Their fur bristles. I feel it too—something primal in the air. The way she described them made them sound evil… As I approach, the whispering intensifies. Words tug at the edges of my mind, indistinct but insistent.
On the outer edge of the triangle, a wooden stand holds a leather-bound journal. Its pages are open to a cryptic drawing—stars, symbols, constellations converging on a shape that mirrors the stones.
"Does that belong to Elara?" I ask. "These stones feel thirsty for divine power. Was someone trying to charge them?"
Shineah's hand trembles as she points at the journal. "Yes. This is hers. She always carried one like this." Her voice is tight with hope and dread. "But this isn't charging—not like you think. It's a celestial map. Lines of energy. Convergence." Her words make no sense to me. The stones pulse faintly. "They're not hungry. They're receptive. Conductors. Always on. Waiting for something—an alignment, a key, maybe even a living conduit."
"Is this some kind of communication device?" I ask. "Are these voices echoes from people near other crystals—or are they trapped inside? Is this a prison?"
Shineah studies the journal, fingers tracing the symbols. "A communication device?" she echoes. "Elara believed these stones amplify and store residual energies—echoes of powerful events, imprints of emotion. Not a prison. More like a reservoir of history."
She pauses. "She thought a skilled practitioner could attune to them. Draw power. Send messages. But not like speech—more like a natural recording device."
The whispering swells, swirling around us. The stones respond to her voice. My bears growl, deeper now. A warning. Something stirs.
"Woah," I murmur, eyes wide. "So they're imprintable seeing stones—like emotional archives. You can share your history with generations to come."
Shineah looks up from the journal, surprise flickering across her face before it softens into understanding. "Yes," she says quietly. "Elara believed they were more than records. Not just seeing stones—feeling stones. Places where emotion and power become part of the stone itself. You don't just see history. You feel it. If you know how to listen."
As she speaks, a cold current flows from the stones. It washes over me, raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the forest. The whispering swells, almost forming words before dissolving again. One of my bears whines, nudging my leg. Its eyes are wide, unsettled. The other stands rigid, a low rumble vibrating through its chest.
"I get it," I say. "They capture emotion in a way words never could. If someone felt heartbreak here, those attuned to the stones would feel it too. Do they say where Elara is?"
"Precisely," Shineah whispers, eyes locked on the glowing page. "A tapestry of emotion, woven into stone. Triumph, loss… all preserved." Her brow furrows as she scans the journal. "There's no mention of her exact location. But this entry—it speaks of a convergence. A rare celestial alignment, happening soon. She believed it would unlock a deeper resonance. She called it 'The Great Unveiling.' She was preparing for it."
My bears pace restlessly now, snorting with unease. The whispers pulse louder, more insistent. I keep my eyes on them. *Is it the stones that are spooking them or something else?*
Suddenly, the larger bear, Charlie, rears up. He sniffs frantically. His jaws part in a silent snarl—not at me, but beyond the clearing. The whispering coalesces into a deafening hum that vibrates through my bones. The air crackles. Sunlight dims. Twilight appears to fall unnaturally fast.
Shineah cries out, clutching the journal. The stones begin to glow—faint. An internal light pulses within them in rhythm with their thrum. The pulse intensifies. It echoes my heartbeat. My bears roar, terrified, backing toward the trees. Their bodies tremble. I follow, staying close, trusting their instincts.
Shineah gasps. Her eyes are wide with awe and fear. Kael and Finn draw their weapons, their faces are pale and tense.The central stone shimmers. The air distorts. A figure begins to form—indistinct, then slowly, terrifyingly clear. I see a woman with tattered clothes. Her hair is wild. Her face etched with exhaustion and something else—something unfocused and haunting.
"It's Elara!" Shineah shouts above the thrum. The image of the woman floats above the ground, translucent, her eyes open and unblinking. But she's not looking at us. She's looking through us—toward something unseen.
Shineah steps forward, hand outstretched. Kael pulls her back as if he is looking at a ghost. Finn stares, frozen.The whispering now comes from Elara herself—a sorrowful drone that chills me to the bone. She raises a spectral hand. It trembles. She points—past us, beyond the stones—into the deep, shadowed woods.
"She's not really here," I say, watching the spectral figure dissolve into light. "Just a recording. A message." But I understand it. I turn toward the woods, the direction she pointed, and begin to walk. My bears fall in behind me, their fear replaced by a quiet vigilance.
The pulsing glow of the stones fades behind us, swallowed by the dense canopy. The thrum dies away, replaced by the familiar hush of the forest. Still, something clings to the air—an unnatural silence. Shineah hesitates, glancing back at the fading apparition, then hurries to catch up. Kael and Finn follow, their faces tight with unease. The trail is barely there—just a subtle shift in the undergrowth. But we follow it, deeper into the shadowed heart of the Whisperwood. We keep going.
My bears weave through the trees, noses low, tracking something I can't see. The scent grows stronger—damp earth, and something metallic. Sweet. Wrong.
Eventually, the canopy thins. A clearing opens before us, quiet and desolate. A rusted cooking pot lies overturned beside a cold fire pit. The camp is crude, long abandoned. But my eyes are drawn to the base of a gnarled oak. She's there, Elara, or what's left of her. Her body is still. Her vibrant cloak faded and torn. In her shriveled hand, a small ornate dagger. Beside her, a single withered flower, dark against the forest floor.
The silence is heavy. My bears shuffle uneasily, their breath loud in the stillness. Shineah kneels beside me. Her face is etched with sorrow. She reaches for Elara's wrist, searching for a pulse that isn't there. A tear slides down her cheek. "Tormack," she whispers. "She's… she's gone. She has been for some time." The clearing falls silent again. Only Shineah's quiet sobs and the restless rustling of my bears break the stillness.
We gather Elara's remains with quiet reverence. "Is this some kind of tradition—elders coming to the stones to share their history before death?"
Shineah shakes her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "No, Tormack," she murmurs. "This wasn't her choice. Elara wouldn't have wanted this—not for herself, and not for those who would find her." She looks down at the skeletal hand still clutching the ornate dagger. "She has a daughter in Oakhaven named after her, also named Elara. This will break her."
Kael unwraps a length of burial cloth from his pack. His movements are efficient, respectful. Shineah gathers the scattered personal effects. The clearing is silent, save for the rustling of leaves and the soft whimpers of my bears.
We begin the journey back to Oakhaven. I carry Elara's remains. My bears flank me, their senses sharp. Every snap of a twig, every shift in the underbrush makes me glance toward the shadows. *Something unsettled them earlier. I don't think it was just the stones.*
Shineah walks beside me, her eyes heavy with grief. She keeps glancing at the dagger. "She wouldn't have taken her own life," she says softly. "That blade—it's ceremonial. Used for delicate work, not death. And the way she pointed… the flower… I think she was warning us. Something else was out here. Something she found. Something that claimed her."
The path feels longer now. Heavier. We carry grief—and something else. A question that won't let go. I stop. "Wait. You're saying you want to go back and investigate?"
Shineah's eyes widen. A spark ignites behind the sorrow. "You're right. We can't leave this unresolved. Not now. Not when we might be standing on the edge of an answer."
She turns. Kael and Finn exchange a glance, then follow. Their weapons hang loosely in their hands.
I lead the way back. My bears sniff the ground with renewed intensity, The fur on the back of their necks stands up. The clearing feels different now. Less mournful. More expectant.
Shineah kneels beside the gnarled oak, scanning the earth. The dark flower still lies there, stark against the moss. Nearby, the soil is disturbed—more than just decay. She gasps. "Look here."
I kneel beside her. Deep gouges scar the earth—too precise for an animal, too erratic for a tool. Scorch marks spiderweb across the ground, faintly glowing, smelling of ozone and rot. Something burned here. Something unnatural.
Half-buried beneath the moss, I find something strange, a dark crystal. Cold as death. It pulses with a sickly purple glow—just like the flower. Something about it feels corrupted.
"This wasn't an accident," Shineah says, her voice hardening. "And it wasn't a beast. Elara wasn't a servant of darkness. She dedicated her life to understanding ancient power—not serving it." She lifts the dark crystal, recoiling slightly from its unnatural cold. "This isn't a tool of sacrifice. It's a weapon. Or a fragment of whatever she was fighting. The scorch marks, the flower… they're signs of corruption. She didn't come here to die. She came to confront something."
I nod slowly. "These stones… I suppose they could hold knowledge for both the righteous and the unrighteous."
Shineah's grip tightens on the dark corrupted crystal. "The scorch marks are fresh. The air still smells of ozone. And this flower…" She holds it up. "Its decay is unnatural. Too fast. Like its life was drained in an instant. Whatever happened here—it wasn't long ago. And whatever did this… it might still be nearby."
I think back on the cultists I fought before. *Their staves with the crystals… I wonder if this is what they were trying to do to me…*
Kael and Finn tense. My bears growl softly, heads lifted, sniffing the air.
I frown. "You're saying she died recently? But her body has already decayed. Why would the marks still be fresh?"
Shineah sighs, brushing hair from her face, wishing she had an answer.
I step forward, voice steady. "There is something vile and corrupted about this place. It needs to be cleansed."
I stand tall in the clearing and let my voice rise in a hymn. A plea for peace. My bears lower their heads, their growls softening into deep, rhythmic purrs. The sound echoes through the trees. Shineah, Kael, and Finn watch in silence. The purple glow of the crystal goes dim. The flower crumbles at the edges. A fragile calm settles over the clearing. The dread begins to lift, replaced by—hope. The Spirit of God gently steps in to cleanse the land. It is a peaceful unseen presence that causes the environment to gradually feel brighter. I stoop and bury one of my glowing stones in the earth, like a seed. "May this land be hallowed from this day forward." Shineah looks to her brothers in awe over this sudden peace.
I then lift Elara's shrouded form and lead the procession away from the clearing. The shard and the flower remain behind—grim markers of what transpired.
The journey back is long. The forest thins. I've never been to Oakhaven before, but Shineah helps guide me. Eventually, the sounds of civilization begin to be heard—woodsmoke, distant hammering, the murmur of voices. The walls of Oakhaven rise before us, tall and weathered. The city gates stand open.
In carrying Elara's remains throughout most of the return journey, it gives me some time for reflection. *I don't know when I will die, but… I would like to get married some day and have children.* I glance at Shineah, someone who actually accepts me… "Do you want to get married?" I blurt out, not wanting this to be the end.
Shineah stops dead in her tracks, just before the bustling main thoroughfare of Oakhaven. Her jaw drops, and her eyes, still red-rimmed from grief, widen in utter shock as she stares at me, speechless for a long moment. Kael and Finn, walking a few paces behind, stumble to a halt, their heads snapping up at my unexpected proposal. The sounds of the city– vendors hawking their wares, children laughing, the distant hammering of a smith– suddenly seem to fade into a muffled background. A faint blush creeps up Shineah's neck, battling with the paleness of her grief-stricken face. She looks from me to the bundle of Elara's remains in my arms, then back to my earnest, half-orc features. "Tormack... what are you…" My heart sinks. "What are you saying?" she stammers, her voice barely a whisper, a mixture of bewilderment, shock, and perhaps a flicker of something else, utterly unexpected, in her gaze. The weight of Elara's death, the solemn journey, and the suddenness of your question create an intensely awkward, yet undeniably charged, moment.
"I'm saying you'd be a great wife," I reply. "I want you to be the mother of my children. Come live with me. In the woods."
Shineah recoils slightly, her initial shock giving way to a flush that spreads across her cheeks. I feel a pain growing in my chest. Her gaze darts from my sincere face to the somber bundle of Elara, then to her brothers, who now stand stiffly. Their hands defensively move to their sword hilts, their expressions unreadable. She shakes her head slowly, a bewildered, almost pained expression crossing her features. "Tormack... I... I appreciate your offer," she begins, her voice strained, "but... my place is here, in Oakhaven. And now, more than ever, I have a duty to Elara's memory and her daughter. This is... too much, too soon." Her voice trails off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.
I nod, taking in a deep breath with a knot forming in my throat, feeling very self-conscious, wanting to escape, *She is kind, but she has no feelings for me any more than she would have for an animal—my orcish features are too much for her…* "Thank you, for showing me into town. I'll be going back home now. If you need me… or miss me... you know where to find me." I then leave Elara's remains with Shineah's brothers and run.
Before I'm completely out of sight, I turn and give Shineah a final lingering look. She stands still by Elara's shrouded form, her expression a mix of regret and confusion. Kael and Finn offer curt nods, their relief palpable. The cacophony of the city fades behind me as I retrace my steps. My bears, sensing my decision, fall in beside me, their pace steady and strong. The familiar embrace of the forest welcomes me, the soft rustle of leaves a stark contrast to the city's clamor. The scent of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils, a comforting aroma after the sterile smells of civilization. I journey deeper into the woods, the path growing more familiar with every stride, back towards my homestead, my crystal, and the quiet solitude of the life I've built, away from all the prejudice.