Chapter 21: A Chilling Response

Pale moonlight filtered through the cracks in the roof of the dilapidated wooden hut that now served as my temporary shelter, nestled in a remote village skirting the forest's edge. It wasn't my hut—the one near the Whispering Woods was no longer safe after repeated break-ins left it ransacked, with precious belongings damaged and key parts of my journal gone. I'd been forced into a nomadic existence, drifting from place to place like a vagabond, relying on the rare kindness (and courage) of villagers willing to take the risk—or, when there was no other choice, sleeping in hollowed trees or narrow forest caves, ever mindful to leave the faintest trace of my passing.

Tonight, I had just returned from scouting the far side of the woods, where rumors spoke of fresh logging activities. My body ached from the journey and from evading the ever-watchful eyes of patrols that seemed to lurk everywhere. I was brewing bitter forest herbs to ease the pain and ward off the creeping cold when a soft fluttering of wings caught my ear near the half-shut window.

My heart leapt. I instinctively reached for the short blade at my waist, prepared for the worst. But what I saw wasn't danger—it was a small, snow-white owl, its wide amber eyes watching me in utter stillness. A tiny scroll was tied to its leg. I recognized it immediately... the same mysterious messenger as before.

A storm of emotions surged through me again—flickers of hope, a rush of doubt, a heavy shroud of suspicion. I slowly set the blade down and stepped cautiously toward the window. The owl didn't flinch. Instead, it calmly lifted one leg, offering the scroll. I gently untied it, noting the faint shimmer of concealment magic still clinging to its feathers. This was no simple enchantment—it was intricate and potent, hinting that the sender possessed significant magical prowess.

No sooner had I removed the scroll than the owl launched into the night sky, vanishing without a sound, leaving behind a single snowy feather drifting to the hut floor.

I returned to the rickety wooden table under the dim glow of my oil lamp. With trembling fingers, I unrolled the parchment. My heart pounded in my chest. The special ink required either moonlight—of which tonight there was precious little—or the finely adjusted lamplight. As the symbols emerged in graceful strokes, I read:

> To the Guardian of the Wilds,

My name is of no importance, but know this—I am one who studies the ancient magics and natural lore from within the halls of this institution. Word has reached me of your brave efforts to defend the Whispering Woods, and of the great peril now encroaching upon it. I cannot meet you nor reveal my identity, for both our sakes.

Yet I may have access to certain knowledge housed within the royal archives that could aid your search. My limited understanding of botanical enchantments and illusionary magic may be of some use.

If you deem this small offer of help to be of value, and if you wish to respond, send a signal by any means you consider safest. I shall wait and do what I can to support you from the shadows.

With respect for your courage,

A Well-Meaning Stranger

I read the letter again and again. The distrust didn't fade. Who was truly behind this message? A genuine idealist scholar—or a Thorn agent, sent to lure me out? The offer was tempting, almost too perfect—access to the royal library, knowledge of magic I sorely lacked... It was enough to stir hope, yet also enough to ignite suspicion.

I thought of all that had come before: the threats, the raids, the encounters with shadowy forces... My enemies weren't just soldiers and bureaucrats; darker powers had crept into the fray. Cunning, merciless ones. Using spies to worm their way close was far from impossible.

And yet... I couldn't deny the truth. I was alone—and desperate. Investigating the "energy core" and "sealing incantations" I had uncovered through the stone ring was beyond me alone. I needed ancient texts. I needed magic deeper than my own. If this stranger spoke even a fragment of truth, it might be the last hope I had.

I stood and approached the window again, staring out at the shadowy outline of the distant Whispering Woods. I could feel its unrest, its pain carried on the wind. I didn't have the luxury of prolonged hesitation or fear. A decision had to be made.

Very well... I'll take the risk. One more time.

But this time—I would test the stranger's sincerity to the fullest.

Returning to the table, I prepared another blank parchment. But instead of using blood as ink, as I had before, I reached for a small pouch of herbs I always carried. From it, I took the "Silent Night" leaves—known for disrupting detection magic—and ground them finely with morning dew. Using a slender twig as a quill, I dipped it into the dark green mixture and carefully inscribed my reply in the ancient forest runes:

> To the Well-Meaning Stranger,

Your message has arrived. I remain suspicious, yet cannot ignore the possibility.

If you wish to prove your intentions, answer me this: What is the true nature of the "sealed energy core"? Is it pure energy—or a vessel for a living spirit? And the "Dark Shade" I encountered—what is it, truly? Is it a creation of Malcor's dark arts—Thorn's advisor?

Bring your answers, not guesses, to the roots of the Eternal Vine Tree beneath the Rainbow Falls, on the night when the North Star burns brightest next week. Mark your message with this sign:

(I drew the symbol—three overlapping leaves in a triad.)

If your knowledge proves valuable, I may consider further "cooperation."

—The Guardian

Rainbow Falls was difficult to reach and well-shielded by natural magic. A meeting there would limit risk. And the questions I posed required specific answers—not easily fabricated. If the stranger was a spy, their search for those truths could reveal much—or expose them.

I sealed the letter with a drop of aromatic sap, distinct in its scent, then stepped out into the cool night once more. This time, I did not summon an animal. Instead, I used the plant magic I still possessed to call forth a small vine. It twined around the scroll gently, then began to creep across the forest floor in utter silence, heading back in the direction from which the snow owl had come. Slower than flight, yes—but far harder to track.

I watched it vanish into the dark.

Inside me, the battle between hope and fear raged on.

My reply was cold—conditional—but it was the only door I was willing to open for now. All I could do was wait...

To see whether what lies beyond that door is a true ally—

—or an enemy in disguise.