Chapter 1 — The Hollow Below the Oak
aura · Thalia
The forest had been holding its breath since you crossed the bone-white river at dawn. You feel it now in the hush between footsteps, in the way the moss seems to lean toward you when you slow. The path that the woodsman swore would carry you straight to Elsenmere has narrowed into a deer-track, and the deer-track has narrowed into a suggestion.
At the foot of an oak older than the kingdom, you find the hollow. A child's wooden horse rests at the threshold, its painted eye long since faded. Beside it, half-buried in leaf-mould, is a circlet of green stone, the metalwork so fine that it seems almost to have grown there. Your fingers ache before you touch it. You have heard the rumours of course — every drunkard in the lowlands has a cousin who knew a man who saw the Verdant Crown. They all end the story the same way. They all end it whispering.
The wind moves once through the leaves above you, and the forest exhales. Somewhere, much closer than it has any right to be, a hound begins to bay.