Sleep came fitfully to Lybid that night. The whispers from the forest had followed her home, weaving through the thin walls of her cottage and settling in her mind like an unwanted guest. She tossed and turned, until at last, the restless haze of half-sleep pulled her into a dream.
She stood at the forest's edge, the boundary between the village and the cursed woods a sharp line etched in mist. The air was heavy, the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves thick in her lungs. Ahead, a figure emerged—a woman draped in tattered, pale garments that shimmered like water under moonlight. Her hair cascaded like a dark waterfall, and her eyes held a depth that made Lybid shiver.
The woman raised a hand, her fingers long and elegant, though they seemed to ripple as though not entirely solid. When she spoke, her voice was a haunting melody, each word resonating deep within Lybid's chest.
"Child of the living," the woman began, her tone both sorrowful and stern, "You stand on the brink of a curse older than your kind."
Lybid's lips moved, but no sound emerged. Her questions—Who are you? What do you mean?—were swallowed by the dense fog. The woman stepped closer, her translucent form wavering like a reflection in disturbed water.
"You and your people have angered the drowned," - she continued, - "Their voices cry out for justice, for peace that was stolen from them. The roots will not stop until balance is restored."
Finally, Lybid found her voice, though it trembled.
"How can we stop this? What must we do?"
The woman's eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, Lybid felt as though she were drowning in an endless tide of sorrow. "Seek the truth beneath the surface," the woman whispered. "But beware—the price of knowledge is death."
Before Lybid could ask more, the dream dissolved into darkness, and she awoke with a start. Her heart pounded, her nightgown clinging to her damp skin. The whispers had stopped, replaced by an unnatural silence. Outside, the first pale light of dawn crept through her window.
She sat up, clutching the edge of her bed, the woman's words echoing in her mind. Seek the truth beneath the surface. The price of knowledge is death.
Lybid knew she couldn't ignore the vision. The Drowned Forest was more than just an encroaching menace; it was a force with purpose.