The village of Myrnyi rested on the edge of the Drowned Forest, a place of whispered legends and lingering dread. Generations ago, the villagers had dared to clear a swath of the forest for farmland, claiming it from the marshy wilderness. For decades, they believed the land was theirs, until the shadows began to stretch.
The first signs were subtle. Trees that had once been distant now loomed closer, their gnarled branches reaching like skeletal hands. The air carried a damp, earthy chill that seemed to seep into bones. At night, faint whispers drifted on the wind, a mournful sound that kept even the bravest from venturing too far.
The village elder, Petro, called for a meeting in the square, near the recently-built church. His voice trembled as he addressed the gathered crowd, his weathered face shadowed by the flickering light of torches.
"The forest moves," he declared. "Each night, it claims another inch of our land. Crops vanish, replaced by blackened roots. And the whispers... the whispers grow louder."
The crowd murmured uneasily, exchanging frightened glances. Among them stood Lybid, a young healer with a quiet determination. Her long dark hair framed sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through the growing fear.
"Elder Petro," she said, stepping forward. "Legends aside, could this not be a natural phenomenon? Forests do grow, after all."
Petro shook his head gravely. "Not like this. The land itself rebels. Yesterday, Yuriy's son went missing near the edge. The boy's footprints... they vanished into the ground."
A hush fell over the crowd. Stories of the Drowned Forest were as old as the village itself, tales of mavkas —vengeful water and forest spirits—and cursed souls bound to its depths. Some dismissed them as myths to scare children, but the whispers... they were real.
Maksym, a hunter known for his fearless expeditions, broke the silence. "If the forest is alive, we must confront it. We've faced wolves and harsh winters. This is no different."
Lybid 's gaze met Maksym's. "You're willing to risk lives?"
Before he could respond, a chilling wail cut through the air. It seemed to come from the forest itself, a sound that froze the villagers in place. Even the torches' flames flickered weakly, as though afraid.
"Enough," Petro said firmly. "Return to your homes. Keep your children close. Tomorrow, we will decide what must be done."
As the crowd dispersed, Lybid lingered, her eyes fixed on the forest's edge. The whispers seemed to call her name, faint but distinct. Shaking off the unease, she turned back toward the village.
That night, the forest crept closer still.