Story 1158: Tread of the Forest King
They say the Forest King walks only once each century—when the Moonwood breathes its coldest breath and the trees creak with ancient hunger. His steps are said to sink the earth, his antlers scrape the stars, and his eyes... his eyes are what beasts fear in their sleep.
No song speaks his true name.
Only the tread marks he leaves behind.
It began with a silence.
Not the gentle hush of snowfall, but the suffocating stillness that choked even the wind. Birds fled. Wolves howled, then vanished. The stream behind the village of Grimlowe froze solid in midsummer.
The elders huddled in the longhouse, clutching runes and muttering prayers. They had seen the signs before—in their fathers’ time.
The moss had blackened.
The roots bled sap.
The stones whispered in sleep.
The Forest King was coming.