Chapter 7: The First Step in the Investigation

The soft glow of an oil lantern illuminated my small wooden cottage, casting flickering shadows that danced in the corners of the room. The evening was silent, save for the distant chirping of crickets from the forest's edge. Yet within me, a storm of thoughts and unanswered questions raged.

I sat cross-legged on the cool wooden floor, surrounded by stacks of old books, hand-drawn maps, and open journals. In front of me lay a crumpled piece of parchment I had found in the forest—its creased surface seemingly at the heart of everything. The words "clear the area" and "secrets" echoed in my mind each time my gaze fell upon it.

My trip to the capital yesterday had been more than fruitless—it confirmed that I was up against something far larger and more dangerous than I had anticipated. They were hiding information. They were lying. And now, they had sent me a warning. That man in the dark suit… his cold eyes and chilling smile still lingered in my memory.

But fear would not stop me. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. If the usual channels wouldn't yield the truth, I would have to uncover it myself—starting with what I had in front of me.

I picked up an old map of the region, one I had copied and added my own notes to over the years. My fingers traced the borders of the Whispering Forest. Just south of it lay a vast stretch of land—the Stonehand estate. It was no coincidence that this land had been seized around the same time I began noticing signs of unauthorized activity deep within the forest.

Flipping through an aged journal filled with local legends and oral histories, I found several pages dedicated to the Stonehand family. They were not just landowners—they had been guardians of the forest's edge for generations. Stories spoke of an ancient pact between their ancestors and the land itself, a mutual protection: the forest thrived, and in return, the estate flourished. It might seem like mere folklore to city dwellers, but to someone like me—who had spent years attuned to nature's unseen forces—such tales often held grains of truth.

And then there was the "sudden and suspicious" death of Caelen Stonehand's parents last year. I strained to recall the whispers from that time. The silence around their passing had been unnatural, as if someone had ensured it never became a major news story. The official reports had dismissed it as an accident, but looking at the broader picture now… it felt far too convenient.

I shifted my focus to the history books scattered around me, searching for records on Lord Valerius Thorn. But most of what I found were polished biographies—accounts carefully crafted to highlight his successes and vision for the kingdom. Nowhere was there a hint of shadowy dealings or a connection to the secretive operations near the forest. His true nature was hidden behind layers of controlled information.

The more I searched, the more I realized that the answers I needed weren't in official records or publicly available books. They were buried in forgotten journals, in the memories of those who had lived through these events, in the remnants of stories erased by time—or deliberately destroyed.

I let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of it all. I was just one scholar, with no political power, no allies in high places—only my knowledge, my determination, and my deep love for this land. How could I possibly stand against the reach of the Prime Minister's forces? A fleeting wave of loneliness washed over me.

But then I thought of the crimson markings carved into the ancient oak, the hollow stares of government officials, the veiled threats hidden behind polite smiles. My resolve hardened once more. I could not let them erase everything.

I needed to dig deeper into the history of the Stonehand family. Perhaps the old village near their former estate held someone who still remembered the truth—someone who could shed light on the suspicious deaths of Caelen's parents, or the true significance of their land.

Reaching for a fresh notebook, I began sketching a plan—routes to take, questions to ask. The lantern's glow continued to burn, a lone beacon in the darkness.

This was only the first step in a long and treacherous journey. The path ahead would be filled with danger and uncertainty. But I would not turn back.

The whispers of the forgotten forest... would be heard.