Somewhere deep in the forest near the borders of Clydeth and the northern kingdom of Vasilia was an ancient village continuously populated by a small group of people. These people came from many walks of life, whether they were humans, elves, dwarves, and many other races that existed in the world of Laterra. The only common element that united them was a single fact: they all belonged to a community of what many called the druids.

  It was easy to call them a different school of magick. Much like the shamans, the mages practiced druidic magick, which made use of their heightened connection with the nature around them. Indeed, the druids were known to make use of the natural energy of life to empower their magick, one that they maintained by keeping the nature vibrant amidst the spread of population and the establishment of new villages and towns. They had made an agreement with the nation of Clydeth and the kingdom of Vasilia that they would stay within the ancient village within the forest provided they kept themselves out of the matters between the two nations. This agreement had been in place for centuries, and was always honored by the leaders of each party. To this point, they maintained a private community, one where only those who they deemed capable of honoring the druidic ways would be allowed to be a part of their community.

  That was how Grant Kanagher found his way into the druidic society ever since he heard about it ten years ago. Ever since the Rogarian War, Grant felt he had lost something important in his life, mainly the joy of adventure and the love of discovery. Being a scholar before becoming involved in the adventuring trade, Grant loved discovering anything that was magick-related. It was part of the reason why he did not object when he joined Bartlett’s party after helping him with a quest. It was a straightforward recruitment, as he needed a mage, regardless of his skills. If their involvement in the war did not happen, he might still be adventuring until he decided to retire.

  Life did not pan out that way for him, and so, he felt lost and angry. He split with the others, promising to keep in touch. He was in a downward spiral and was essentially broken, as he couldn’t stop going to pubs until his money was gone. He got into a fight and got into trouble for casting a dangerous spell while drunk.

  He would be put in the Silent Prison if it wasn’t for his old friend, a druid by trade, bailing him out and promising the Clydethian law enforcement that he would take care of Grant. Grant, along with his former adventuring party, once saved the druid and others like him from a debased form of slavery. They were honored in the community and became friends with them.

  When the druid friend learned that Grant was in the area and was causing trouble, he learned about his problems. The druid helped him get on his feet and invited him to live among the druids as a guest. Grant found work in the library, and he began to rebuild his life, happy and content that it wasn’t entirely robbed from him completely.

  But that happy and content life wouldn’t last forever.

  Grant was having a peculiar dream that seemed surreal and unusual. In it, he was with his old friends, drinking in a pub celebrating a job well done. Or so he thought. Rodvar drank and laughed with his booming voice. Bartlett and Eliani being romantic in their own corner, drawing some attention to the unusual human-Kal’Adre couple. Okempon, another Kal’Adre in their adventuring party, was young and awkward, so he simply sat around looking around like a skittish cat.

  Grant trained himself to be a lucid dreamer as a hobby, so he remembered the details of his dreams. It immediately struck him as strange. His friends were having a celebration, but the bar was silent. The pub seemed like a backdrop to a cubical room, painted to the wall. His friends, while at first looking normal, were immediately found to be doing the same routine, repeating themselves after a set action.

  Then one side of the room was dark. No…black. It was a black void, as if painted by the blackest of blacks. It did not reflect any light, causing Grant to be unsure whether it was simply a dark room or just a painted wall. Grant couldn’t help but stare at the blackness.

  He felt himself drawn to it. The darkness slowly filled his vision. He couldn’t look away. It was pulling him in. In a blink of an eye, his vision plunged into darkness.

  And in the darkness, he could hear whispers, or perhaps just a wind. It was eerie and otherworldly. He was perturbed by it. His instincts told him that this was dangerous, and he should leave the dream or risk getting eaten by the enveloping darkness.

  He then woke up once he blinked, or thought himself blinking. He wasn't sure. It was too dark to even tell. He found himself back in his modest, wooden bungalow. A knock at the door woke him.

  “I’m coming!” he said, as he got himself dressed. The half-elf’s room was partially open to nature, in which an herb garden he started was situated along with a meditation circle. On one side, scrolls and parchments were strewn across the table, part of his job as a librarian. He had a habit of taking his work home, a leftover habit from his days as a scholar. Across the table was his bed, which was nothing more than a hammock.

  The door led into the community of druids. It was still too early for anyone to wake him up; the sun was barely rising. Groggily, he walked towards the door, draped in simple clothes consisting of shirt and suspenders. He opened the door to his druid friend.

  “What is it, Pawa?” said Grant with a groggy tone. “It’s still dawn.”

  “I, uh….”

  Grant noticed that the Latranian was propping himself on the wall beside the door. He seemed to be exhausted and weak, like someone who had an intense exercise for hours with no rest or someone who was starving. Grant was further surprised when Pawa tried to move, only to find himself losing balance and fell into Grant’s arms. An envelope dropped out of his hand into Grant's cabin, but it wasn't what the half-elf was focusing at the moment.

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  “Pawa, hey!” exclaimed a surprised Grant. “What’s wrong?!”

  “You’re…unaffected,” said the coyote person. There was a tinge of gladness despite his weakened state. “Grant…we’re sick. Look…at the herbs….”

  Grant turned to see his herbs. They were dying, as if they were being neglected. Grant remembered watering them. They were still healthy the day before.

  This alerted him that something was going on. Perhaps his strange dreams and what was happening to the plants and Pawa were somehow connected. He wished to ask Pawa for more, but the Latranian appeared too sick to be able to answer coherently, so Grant took him inside and helped him to a chair.

  “I’ll go find out what’s wrong,” said Grant. “You just sit tight and rest, alright?”

  Pawa was still aware enough to give him a nod. Grant took his cloak, his shoes, and his staff before walking out into the community, intending to go ask the leaders of the druid.

  Along the way, he witnessed druids looking out of sorts or too weak to the point where they needed to prop themselves up. Some druids, who were caprine in appearance, looked unaffected and were dealing with the ailment. Grant wondered who they were, as he had neither heard nor read about them. He did not have time to think about it; his priority was to get to the bottom of the problem.

  His attention was immediately drawn to a human who acted differently in which she did not seem to be affected by whatever’s affecting the druids. The young, dark-skinned woman was distressed, clearly not sure on why this was happening. Grant recognized her: she was a fellow guest, who had recently been accepted in the community the same way the community accepted Grant. Grant had seen her a couple of times in the gathering hall for almost two years now, though she seemed to have her own group of people to converse with.

  “Hey!” Grant called. “You there!”

  The woman heard him. She turned towards him with a surprised expression on her face. She did not seem to expect him to call her, considering how almost everyone was affected.

  “Oh, thank the heavens someone’s not affected,” she said. Grant immediately recognized her Jubari accent. “Who are you?”

  “I can say the same to you too,” said Grant. “Do you know what’s causing this?”

  “I can’t tell. However, the spirits are acting strange. Perhaps that is the cause?”

  “The spirits? What can you tell about the spirits?”

  “Ah,” the woman shook her head. “I am sorry for the confusion. I am a spiritwalker, not a druid. I communicate with the spirits inhabiting the trees.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. Your necklace’s a dead giveaway,” said Grant, gesturing to his neck.

  The woman was surprised by Grant's nonchalant observation, but she didn't have time to ask.

  “What can you tell?”

  “The spirits are acting strangely,” she explained. “Their very nature is changing, and it seems to be caused by something deeper in the forest. There is no way to be sure unless we follow the source of their change. But to go deeper….”

  “To go deeper, we need the permission of the druids’ leader,” said Grant. “Considering your vocation, you’re as much a guest as I am.”

  “That I am.” She extended her hand. “I am Arrabi, of Jubari.”

  “Grant Kanagher,” said Grant, introducing himself while accepting Arrabi’s hand. “Let’s sort this thing out, Arrabi.”

  Arrabi gave him a nod.

  The two walked towards the hall, one of the bigger buildings that were in the druidic community. Like everything there, the hall was made out of the wood of the trees around them. Grant was told that the materials were gifted by the trees to the druids as a form of mutual understanding. He was inclined to believe that story, even though he wasn’t sure how druidic magick work.

  The hall itself was adorned with flowers, with an emphasis on ‘was’, for the flowers had wilted. The beauty remained on the ornately carved wooden pillars that supported the hall, along with an assortment of other wood carvings made by the druids of yore. Grant had always admired their beauty and their artistic sense. It was something so natural, different from the many arts that he admired before in his journey.

  Yet all that were sullied by the wilting flowers and other plants. Life turned to death in that hall, and it troubled Grant. Just a day ago, everything seemed to be so fresh and so vibrant. Now, everything was slowly dying.

  His train of thoughts were soon interrupted by a voice that prompted him to turn his attention to. It was a groaning voice of an elven woman, whose youth belied her true age. Grant knew her as the leader of the druidic community, the one who had been protecting the forest for hundreds of years and would do so as long as she was capable. However, the situation in the community was far from optimal for her rule, or to her health. The brimming appearance of the elf was gone, replaced with a weakened woman sitting on her chair, too exhausted to move.

  “Grant…and Arrabi,” said the leader with a weak voice. “You’ll…have to do.”

  “Mistress Elusia,” said Arrabi with a bow. “We can’t delay this issue further. To find the source of this mysterious malady, we must go deep into the forest, beyond the communal garden. We are but humble guests to your abode, so we bid your permission.”

  “And I…will permit it,” said Elusia. “Go and do what you must do.”

  Arrabi was bowing when the leader continued.

  “But beware of the source of this malady, Arrabi,” continued Elusia. “There is evil deep within the forest, one that will affect you. This is true for you too, Grant.”

  “If I may ask, what are we up against?” asked Grant.

  “Something ancient…and something we druids can’t destroy. All we can do…is seal it. This malady…is caused by that seal breaking, which I'm sure is sabotage. You two...are not druids. Perhaps you can fix the mistake we weren't able to fix ourselves."

  "Not perhaps, milady. We must fix this or die trying."

  "Then go. And may the trees protect you."

  Grant gave a courteous bow, beckoning Arrabi to follow him. Along the way, Elusia’s words made the half-elf ponder on what she was talking about. An ancient evil that could only be sealed so close to a community of druids was like a disaster waiting to happen. There must be a reason why the druids did not simply move and let such ancient evil be forgotten.

  The only reason Grant could give was that they were guarding the ancient evil. Whatever it was, Grant and Arrabi were the only ones that could deal with it, and they would gladly do it as a favor for giving them a home and the help they both needed in the darkest moments of their lives.

  They prepared themselves. Grant took nothing more than his staff and his potions. Arrabi took some herbs and more potions. Once they were ready, they met one another near the back of the community garden. Everything in the garden had wilted, including the surrounding grass and the trees. A path on the other side of the garden led deeper into the thick, dark forest.

  “You ready?” asked Grant.

  “I must. For our friends,” said Arrabi.

  They both nodded to one another, silently promising to have each other’s backs. Then, they traversed into the dark forest, ready to deal with whatever’s waiting for them.