The fire crackled softly in Petro's hut as Deacon Methodius sat down, his expression both weary and resolute. Lybid, seated across from him, waited in silence. The elder had asked them to meet here before their journey, and now the young deacon's story began to unfold.
"When I came here years ago with my brother Cyril," Methodius began, his voice steady but low, "we thought our mission was to bring faith to this village. The Word of God, we believed, could conquer any darkness. But this place... it was different."
Lybid leaned forward. "Different how?"
Methodius's pale blue eyes flicked toward the fire. "We heard of the Drowned Forest even before we arrived. The villagers warned us—said it was cursed, that we should stay away. But Cyril and I believed in our purpose. Faith was our shield, and we had brought the light of Christ to other forsaken places before. So, when the villagers pleaded with us to bless their fields, we agreed."
He paused, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the golden cross around his neck. "The forest felt wrong the moment we stepped near it. It wasn't just the stillness or the shadows that moved like living things. It was... the air. Thick, suffocating. As if something unseen was pressing down on us."
Lybid 's heartbeat quickened. She felt a strange camaraderie with Methodius, a shared understanding of how Myrnyi and the forest both demanded more from its people than anywhere else. "What happened?" she asked.
"We began the blessing, you remember?" Methodius continued. "Cyril led the prayers while I sprinkled holy water. At first, the villagers stood behind us, murmuring their own prayers. But then..." He hesitated, the memory clearly weighing on him. "The ground trembled. Not a strong quake, but enough to make the trees shudder. And then came the voices."
Lybid straightened. "The whispers?"
"No," Methodius said, shaking his head. "Not whispers. Screams. Agonized, desperate screams, as if a thousand souls were crying out all at once. The villagers fled. Cyril and I stood our ground, clutching our crosses, but then I saw it."
"Saw what?" Lybid whispered, her voice barely audible.
"A woman entwined with roots," he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Or something that looked like one. Her illusory form wavered, like smoke or water, but her eyes... they burned with hatred. She pointed at Cyril and said, 'Your god won't save you. You cannot save them. You cannot save yourselves.' And then she vanished."
Lybid's breath hitched. The woman in his tale echoed the figure from her vision. "What did Cyril do?"
"He said nothing," Methodius replied, his voice thick with emotion. "We simply looked at each and nodded. Then he told me to return to the village, but while he stayed to finish the blessing."
"You left him?" Lybid asked, her tone sharper than intended.
"I didn't want to," Methodius snapped, then sighed, his anger giving way to guilt. "Cyril insisted. I waited for him in the village. Soon after he left to spread the word of Christ to other regions. But... everything turned to be much more complex. When we went back after Cyril left, the forest had swallowed the spot where we had prayed."
The room fell silent, save for the crackling fire. Lybid stared into the flames. The forest wasn't just a threat to the village; it was a force that demanded tribute, a balance that had been upset long ago.
"I stayed," Methodius said after a long pause. "I thought I could carry on our mission, protect the villagers. But every year, the forest grows closer, its hunger greater. Whatever it wants, it hasn't been satisfied."
Lybid met his gaze, her voice steady despite the unease clawing at her chest. "Then we'll find out what it wants. Together."
Methodius gave a grim nod. "God brought me this far. Perhaps it will see us through."
As dawn approached, the two prepared for their journey. The forest awaited, its whispers now a low hum in the distance, as if it sensed what was to come. For Lybid and Methodius, the path ahead was shrouded in shadow, but there was no turning back. The fate of Myrnyi—and perhaps their own souls—depended on what they would uncover in the depths of the Drowned Forest.