The forest was silent. Not quiet—dead.
In the dream, I stood in Silverglen, but it was not the place I knew. The sky hung heavy above me, dark and swirling with storm clouds that bled ash instead of rain. The trees around me were leafless, their twisted limbs blackened as though burned from within. The land moaned. The earth cracked beneath my feet.
I could not breathe.
I turned in every direction and saw only ruin. The cottages were in pieces. The stream had dried into a hollow scar. And where there had once been laughter, firelight, and the scent of wild herbs, there was only silence and smoke.
And blood.
I took a step forward and heard the crunch of bones beneath me.
Then, the voice returned.
It came like wind, like echo, like shadow. Neither male nor female, and yet somehow both.
"You see what was stolen. What they took from me."
I spun around, searching for the speaker. "Who are you? Why are you showing me this?"
