In the heart of the unyielding moors, where ragged heath and jagged limestone crags loomed against a bruised sky, lay the village of Eldergrove. It was a place that seemed forgotten by time, as though the world had pressed on whilst leaving it untouched. Moss-draped stone cottages huddled beneath towering oaks, their bark gnarled like old hands gripping desperately at the earth. In Eldergrove, stories crept like the fog that rolled in each evening, thick and damp, clinging to the village like a shroud.
Not far from the village, a sighing wind whispered through the ancient ruins of an old manor house, long abandoned and overtaken by ivy. It was here that the villagers spoke of the Shadows of the Forgotten Beasts—creatures from the dark recesses of the past that lingered in the memories of those who dared to remember. Old Greta, the village’s storyteller, spoke of them by the flickering firelight, her voice a low tremor as she conjured images of beasts once mighty, now relegated to shadows.
“Long ago,” she would begin, “when the world still held the breath of magic, these creatures roamed freely over the land.” Her rheumy eyes would twinkle as she recalled their names: The Threnody, a sorrowful wraith, lamenting the losses of ages; the Bramblewolf, shrouded in thorns and brambles, fierce and wild; and the Dusk Serpent, a slumbering giant that wove through the earth beneath our feet. “But as time marched on, they faded—forgotten by the very people who once celebrated their existence. The beasts became mere whispers, shadows that flitted at the edge of one’s vision.”
Most villagers dismissed her tales, treating them as folklore cloaked in the warmth of tradition. Yet, among the younger folk, a curiosity stirred—a longing to seek out these lost creatures, to rediscover faded legends. Among these was a spirited girl named Lila, a beacon of enthusiasm in an otherwise dreary village. Her wild chestnut hair danced with the wind, and her laughter rang through the woods like a songbird’s call. Lila was determined to uncover the truth behind the shadows.
One misty afternoon, as rain threatened to stain the earth, Lila gathered a small group of friends—Tom, the practical one, with hands that were always coated in dirt; Anna, who believed in things unseen and had a penchant for sketching cryptids; and little Sam, who tagged along mostly because he adored Lila’s fervour. Together, they decided to venture to the manor where the tales of Greta first took root, armed only with an old lantern and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.
As they approached the manor, the wind seemed to quiet, as if the very earth held its breath. The old gates hung ajar, squeaking ominously as they pushed through. Gnarled branches clawed at the air, threatening to swallow them whole. The further they ventured into the grounds, the thicker the air became, heavy with the scent of moss and decaying wood, the whispers weaving through the trees like an echo of forgotten memories.
Inside the manor, dust motes danced in the light of their flickering lantern. The rooms were bare, save for remnants of furniture long faded, along with echoes scratched into the floorboards where joy and sorrow had resided. As they wandered deeper, a chill swept through the air—a sudden rush that prompted Lila to halt. “Did you feel that?” she breathed, excitement shimmering in her voice.
“It was just the wind,” Tom replied, though he too felt a tremor of unease trickling into his bones.
“Or perhaps it was something more,” Anna suggested, glancing around with wide eyes. Her fingers traced the outline of a large, cracked mirror, once splendid but now marred and dusty. “What if we’re not alone?”
Just then, shadows danced across the walls, shapes slipping just beyond their line of sight. For a moment, they stood frozen, hearts racing in unified rhythm, but the sensation of something watching them withdrew into the darkness.
“Let’s keep moving,” Lila said, her adventurous spirit unyielded. They forged deeper into the bowels of the manor until they stumbled upon a hidden door, splintered wood hanging off rusty hinges as though it had been forgotten among the time-worn walls.
With a creak, they pushed it open, revealing a spiral staircase that coiled down into an inky darkness. Clutching the lantern tightly, Lila led the way, each step echoing in the confined space. Ghostly whispers seemed to swell around them, soft and mournful, fuelling the energy of legends spun from a time before time. At the bottom of the stairs, they found a cavernous chamber adorned with faint carvings on the walls, resembling the very creatures Greta had described—mighty, splendid, yet undeniably lost.
As they ventured further into the chamber, an unsettling sound began to grow—a low, mournful murmur that ebbed and flowed, weaving through the stone like a dirge. Sam shivered, taking a step back. “It sounds like… it sounds like someone’s crying,” he whimpered.
Lila’s heart raced as she pressed forward. “It’s the Threnody!” she exclaimed. “We have to find it!” Determined, she stepped into the dim light of the chamber, the shadows around them stirring as though reacting to her audacity. Tom hesitated, but Anna took her courage and followed, pulling Sam along with her.
Then, in the furthest corner, something stirred, emerging from the gloom of the chamber. It slithered into the light, a shimmering silhouette that took the form of a great beast, woven from darkness itself. Its eyes glowed with an ethereal light, full of sorrow and ancient wisdom. Lila stood transfixed, amazed by the spectral beauty of the creature.
“Who dares enter my realm?” the Threnody’s voice echoed, a harmonic blend of sorrow and lament. Its form shifted, revealing a body that resembled shadows caught in the throes of night. “I am the guardian of the lost, the keeper of forgotten tales.”
With every syllable, the creature’s aura thickened, unfurling the weight of its burden, imbued with memories of those who had long since passed. Lila felt her heart ache, not with fear, but with empathy. “We are not here to harm you,” she spoke softly, her voice barely a whisper. “We seek to understand, to remember.”
The Threnody studied them, its luminous gaze piercing through their façades, searching for kernels of sincerity. “Many believed the beasts of old to be mere figments of imagination, shadows that danced at the edges of sanity. But they are real, woven into the fabric of this world, forgotten yet desiring to be remembered.”
As it spoke, the shadows surrounding them began to swirl, revealing glimpses of the Bramblewolf dining under a full moon, its eyes fierce yet grace-soaked, the Dusk Serpent weaving underneath the earth, its immense body glistening like the veins of the realm. These images flared in Lila’s mind, a kaleidoscope of life and loss, longing captured in fleeting moments.
“Who will remember us when memory falters?” the Threnody asked, its voice now rife with desperation. “When the stories are told, who will give us breath?”
Lila took a deep breath, stepping forward into a cascade of shadow, feeling her heart drum against the layers of the beast’s sorrowing essence. “We will,” she vowed, her eyes alight with conviction. “We will honour your stories, share them with others. The world must know.”
The Threnody seemed to shimmer, a sigh echoing through the chamber, a swirling embrace of relief unspooling like a thread against the shadows of despair. “Then let it be told,” it whispered, its form shifting in a dance of light and shadow. “Let the shadows of the past be awakened, and forever woven into tales anew.”
As they returned to Eldergrove, the memory of what they had encountered lingered like an imprint on their souls. Lila and her friends became keepers of stories, their lives intertwined with the forgotten beasts. The whispers of the moors transformed from a mere legend into the fabric of their shared existence. In time, the villagers began to gather around fires, as Lila recounted the tales with fervour, reviving the lore the world had nearly swallowed whole.
And as night fell over Eldergrove, the shadows of the threnody danced gently among the trees, cradling the lost stories of beasts long forgotten, reclaiming their place in the vast tapestry of life.
