Chapter Text
Threads of fate are a peculiar thing. Threads stretch, fray, and snap under tension. At times, threads are spun to intersect, twist, or tangle. At the juncture of two threads, one’s life is touched by another. However, when seven threads cross and interweave, forming a web of fate—that is destiny.
At the edge of the Moonwood, a breeze carried the scent of earth and pine across Jeon Jeongguk’s face. The half-elf inhaled deeply. His favorite aroma was once again torturing him.
He hated this position. Jeongguk belonged in the forest, not guarding an old, mossy tower. The hours he spent waiting for the signal that would relieve his post were the longest of his life.
The young half-elf sat in a tree, his hood resting over waves of dark hair, curling on his cheekbone and just below his slightly pointed ears. His olive-brown armor and mottled tawny cloak helped the ranger stay hidden in the canopy. He carried a leather pack of supplies strung over his shoulder, and the quiver on his hip and nocked arrow in his lap prepared him for any danger.
Jeongguk was a member of the Watchers, an organization devoted to protecting the realm from the threat of other planes. Most members were holier-than-thou paladins, but the Watchers also trained rangers to protect the forest from creatures of the Feywild.
The group had strongholds and outposts across Faerûn, but a large settlement resided near the metropolis of Silverymoon due to its strong arcane connections and the ancient forests that surrounded it. The city was protected by a powerful enchantment, but that did not prevent creatures of the fey from being drawn to the elven capital.
Just as Jeongguk raised his fingers to the sun to check the time, he heard the call of the Watchers. The lilting whistle of a low note followed by a series of high notes evoked the memory of a bird call.
As his signal echoed through the trees, its source obscured, Jeongguk eagerly returned his arrow to its quiver. He tossed a coiled rope, watching it unravel through the air with a snap. Without hesitation, he leaped from the boughs.
Gliding like a sparrow, Jeongguk’s cloak billowed and rushing wind pulled at his hood. His pulse thrummed beneath the grip of his leather gloves, the rope slipping through practiced hands. His boots thudded to the forest floor and he carried the momentum as he ran into the woods.
After quickly rummaging in his bag, Jeongguk held a clear crystal attached to a leather cord. He pulled it over his head and it rested on his leather breastplate. The crystal would glow bright green in the presence of fey, a useful tool when on patrol in the Moonwood.
Jeongguk followed the slightly worn path that skirted the eastern boundary of the forest. He walked within the edge of the tree line, close enough to see the sky darkening as the sun dipped closer to the horizon.
He whistled melodically and placed his hand on a lichen-covered tree trunk.
“Hello, tree.”
He didn’t know if it was the wood elf blood in his veins, but sometimes he felt that the forest itself was his best companion. As he rested at the base of this tall conifer, a red squirrel with tufted ears clutched the bark and peered down at him. The squirrel cocked her head and Jeongguk smiled. Slowly, he raised an open hand to his mouth, forefinger against his lips and little finger toward the animal.
“Hello, creature,” he whispered in Elvish. A green glow of energy extended from his fingers and surrounded the squirrel before entering her tufted ears. “Would you like some food?” Jeongguk spoke normally, but anyone listening would only hear small chirps and squeaks.
Without hesitation, the red squirrel scurried down the trunk and onto Jeongguk’s arm. He smiled at the squirrel standing on her hind legs, sniffing the air, black eyes trained on the half-elf. Jeongguk reached into his bag with his other hand and extracted a few seeds he kept as a snack. The squirrel gratefully fed from him and he giggled as the creature’s claws tickled his hand. When the squirrel finished Jeongguk’s supply of seeds, he stroked the creature.
“How is the forest today, Sciurus?”
The squirrel quickly rose on her hind legs again, whiskers moving rapidly with her nose. A few chirps escaped her mouth that Jeongguk comprehended as a call to the others in her brood. He couldn’t hear a response, but her ears twitched in multiple directions. Sciurus swiftly climbed his arm so their faces were close. Her nose quivered before scuttling back up the tree, imparting a warning.
“Beware the stone at half-light.”
Jeongguk was shocked for a moment, unsure if his spell caused a misunderstanding. Sciurus rarely communicated anything of importance. He glanced east, wishing he could see the sun. The sky had darkened significantly since the last time he checked.
He glanced back at the tree, Sciurus now out of sight. Jeongguk hastened his pace, continuing along the trail. He wasn’t far from his destination. He’d be back at camp before dark.
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As the forest dimmed, the creatures of the night grew louder. Crickets sang their songs and owls called across the canopy. The trail thinned this far north and Jeongguk hurried through the underbrush.
His hand wandered to a red braided cord tied around his waist. The piece of his Watchers uniform tended to occupy his nerves, allowing him to calm his active mind with busy fingers.
Finally, in the low light, he could see his objective. A clearing ahead was occupied by the gradual incline he knew to be Old Stone.
The Old Stone was a giant boulder atop a mound of earth, more than double Jeongguk’s height tall and wide. Surrounding the boulder was a ring of mossy stones carved with runes no one could read.
Some said that a nomadic tribe used the mound as a place of worship long ago. Others said it sealed a passageway to the Nine Hells.
In truth, no one knew anything except for the presence of old fey magic resonating through the site. Luckily, it had been dormant for as long as the Watchers observed it, and elves knew better than to mess with magic they did not understand.
Just a run around the perimeter, then head back to camp, Jeongguk told himself.
He rounded the mound and the squirrel’s warning echoed in the back of his mind. He glanced toward the center of the boulder. No activity. Sciurus must have been scared of a wolf or an owl. Nothing Jeongguk couldn’t handle. He checked the sky above him. Golden light shone on the clouds, the pink tinge of dusk setting in. Plenty of time to make it back for supper.
Jeongguk approached the furthest edge of the hill and, in the corner of his eye, sunlight glinted off one of the stones. The image stopped him in his tracks. The light had already faded from the sky and moss did not reflect that brightly.
Upon a second glance, it wasn’t sunlight casting over the stone—it was the etched rune that was glowing. Jeongguk’s eyes quickly scanned the other stones. Another was aglow with violet light, the next a vivid blue.
Slowly, he removed his bow from his back and nocked an arrow from his quiver. Each stone glowed with chromatic energy and a green orb hovered over the center of the boulder. He watched the orb expand to the size of a doorway, then larger, wide enough to allow a carriage through. Jeongguk’s grip on his weapon tightened.
Something was stepping through the newly opened portal.
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