Forest of Whispers:
Where the Trees Remember What Man Forgot

There is a place where even the wind seems to hesitate. A stretch of ancient woodland cloaked in mist and myth, where time softens and shadows linger longer than they should. This is the Forest of Whispers.

The name is not poetic invention. Those who have dared venture into its depths speak of voices carried on the breeze—soft, fragmented murmurs that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere. The trees are said to speak to those who truly listen. Not in words, but in impressions, memories, and thoughts not your own. The deeper one goes, the louder the forest becomes.

No one agrees on its exact location. Paths change. Landmarks vanish. The forest seems to breathe and shift like a living thing. Compasses spin wildly. Time becomes a suggestion rather than a rule. Some explorers swear they were inside for minutes, only to find days had passed when they returned.

If they return at all.

Stories tell of those who entered searching for enlightenment, adventure, or answers. A poet who emerged with white hair and a stare that never focused. A botanist who returned speaking only in riddles. A soldier who came back silent, carving strange symbols into wood for months before disappearing again.

Locals avoid the edges of the forest, offering warnings to travelers that are always met with nervous laughter. But the truth is, something waits in there. Something that remembers. Something that watches.

Many believe the forest is a remnant of a forgotten age. A place where memory lives in bark and moss, and where the very land holds secrets too heavy for the human mind. Not evil, perhaps. But not forgiving either.

The trees whisper. They do not lie. But truth, spoken in their voice, comes at a price.

And not everyone who listens comes back whole.