Mystery of the forest

Óttarr's fingers trembled as he traced the edge of the pool, its radiant glow casting a surreal light across his rain-drenched face. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, as though the forest itself was waiting to see what he would do next. The hum in the air persisted, but it was no longer the oppressive, suffocating force it had been before. It had shifted into something gentler, almost melodic, like a wordless song resonating in his bones.

The creature's retreat still lingered in his mind, its glowing eyes and fungal-carved body etched into his memory. What had driven it away? The vibration that had thrummed through the clearing had been more than just sound—it had felt alive, purposeful. Was it connected to the pool? To the Raincaller? Or was it something else entirely, another mystery woven into the tangled fabric of this alien forest?

Óttarr knelt by the water's edge, his breath hitching as he peered into the glowing depths. The shapes he'd seen moving beneath the surface were clearer now, swirling like shadows in the faint blue light. They weren't random; they danced in patterns, spiraling and shifting with an almost hypnotic rhythm. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers hovering above the water. The hum seemed to pulse in time with the ripples, as if urging him forward.

He hesitated, the primal part of his mind screaming at him to pull back, to run. But there was nowhere to go. This forest had stripped him of every illusion of control, and now, standing before this glowing anomaly, he felt a strange, undeniable pull. Whatever this was, it wasn't just a danger—it was an answer.

Óttarr took a deep breath and dipped his fingers into the pool.

The reaction was immediate. The water wasn't cold or wet; it was something else entirely. It felt like energy, like liquid light flowing through his veins. The hum in the air intensified, vibrating through his body and rattling his very soul. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think—he was completely consumed by the sensation.

Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

Óttarr gasped, stumbling back from the pool, his hands shaking. The glow in the water had changed, deepening to a richer, darker blue. The shapes beneath the surface slowed their dance, as if responding to him. He looked down at his hand and froze.

His fingers were glowing.

Faint tendrils of blue light snaked up his palm, tracing the lines of his veins like living tattoos. The sensation wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming—a strange mix of warmth and cold, like being submerged in a tide that carried him somewhere beyond himself. He flexed his fingers, watching as the light pulsed in response.

The hum in the air grew louder, almost deafening now. It wasn't just a sound—it was a voice, a presence, something vast and ancient pressing against the edges of his mind. Images flickered through his thoughts: towering trees that seemed to stretch into eternity, storms that raged with the fury of a thousand oceans, and a pair of glowing green eyes that pierced through the darkness like twin stars.

The Raincaller.

Óttarr staggered to his feet, the glowing patterns on his hands fading but not disappearing entirely. The forest around him seemed to shift, the trees leaning closer, their gnarled branches weaving into strange, unrecognizable shapes. The air was thick with tension, every sound amplified as if the world itself was watching.

A soft rumble echoed through the clearing, and Óttarr's blood ran cold. He turned toward the sound, his heart pounding in his chest.

The Raincaller was back.

It stepped into the clearing with the same quiet, deliberate grace as before, its massive form glistening with rain and pulsing light. Its wings were tucked close to its body, the iridescent feathers shimmering faintly in the pool's glow. Its eyes locked onto him immediately, their piercing green gaze more intense than ever.

But something was different.

The creature didn't crouch or snarl. It didn't move to attack. Instead, it stood there, its head tilted as if studying him. The hum in the air seemed to thrum in time with its breathing, the vibrations syncing with the faint glow still lingering on Óttarr's skin. Its gaze was sharp, intelligent, and ancient, as though it carried the weight of untold millennia. Óttarr felt his breath catch under its scrutiny, the forest around him fading into a distant blur.

The Raincaller lowered its massive head, its beak gleaming like polished wood. For a moment, Óttarr thought it might strike, but instead, it stopped just short of him. Its breath was warm against his face, carrying the scent of rain and earth. The creature's glowing eyes searched his own, and in that moment, Óttarr felt something shift deep within him—a connection he couldn't explain but couldn't deny.

The hum in the air changed again, deepening into a resonance that filled the clearing. It wasn't just sound—it was meaning, a wordless message that bypassed language and sank straight into his mind.

You are marked.

Óttarr staggered back, his chest heaving as the words—or whatever they were—echoed through him. The Raincaller didn't move, its gaze steady and unyielding. The glow on his hands pulsed brighter for a moment, then dimmed, as though in response to the creature's presence.

The Raincaller let out a low, rumbling growl—not a threat, but a sound of acknowledgment. Then, with a final, deliberate glance, it turned and vanished into the forest, its massive form swallowed by the mist and shadows.

Óttarr stood frozen, the hum fading into silence. He looked down at his hands, the faint glow still visible beneath his skin. Around him, the forest seemed to breathe, the branches and vines swaying as though alive. The pool's light reflected in his eyes, its steady pulse echoing the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

Whatever had happened here, it had changed him. The Raincaller had spared him—not out of mercy, but for a reason.

And now, he was bound to this forest. Its hum filled his ears, its life coursed through his veins, and its mysteries loomed before him, vast and untamed. The Raincaller had chosen him—or perhaps the forest had. Either way, there was no turning back.

Óttarr's journey had only just begun.