Chapter 6: Whispers of the Past
Alex leaned against a gnarled tree, its rough bark digging into his back as he caught his breath. The midday sun pierced the dense canopy above, scattering golden patches across the forest floor. Lyra sat a few feet away, her sword balanced across her knees, the whetstone in her hand gliding along the blade with a steady shink-shink. The sound grounded him, a quiet rhythm amid the wild unknown of Eryndor.
"So, how far to Eldergrove from here?" he asked, brushing dirt from his hands.
Lyra paused, tilting her head as if measuring the distance in her mind. "Two days, maybe, if we don't dawdle. The path splits up ahead—one way cuts through the Whispering Woods, the other skirts around it."
Alex quirked an eyebrow. "Whispering Woods? That sounds... cheerful."
She smirked, sheathing her sword with a flourish. "Oh, it's a delight. Trees that murmur secrets, shadows that move on their own. People go in and don't come out—or if they do, they're muttering gibberish."
A chill crawled up Alex's spine despite the warm air. "Right. So, we're avoiding that?"
"Unless you want to test your luck," Lyra said, standing and slinging her pack over her shoulder. "The long way's safer. Adds half a day, but we'll keep our sanity."
Alex chuckled, pushing off the tree. "Sanity's overrated, but I'll take it."
They gathered their gear and set off, the dirt path crunching beneath their boots. The forest thickened around them, branches knitting together overhead until the sky was a patchwork of green and gold. As they walked, silence settled, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional birdcall. Alex found his thoughts drifting—back to Earth, to Mikey, to the life he'd left behind.
"You know," he said, his voice softer than he intended, "back home, I never really belonged anywhere. Foster homes, group homes—always bouncing around. Mikey was the only thing that stuck."
Lyra glanced at him, her sharp green eyes softening. "That sounds rough. What was he like?"