Twilight descended upon the forest like a quiet, silvery river, slowly flooding hollows and hills, the towering peaks of ancient firs and pines. The thicket slumbered, wrapped in an age-old dream. The trees stood like mighty pillars, their bark entwined with moss and lichen, so old it seemed they had witnessed the first dawns of the world.
I walked barefoot among them, light as the wind itself, while the thick, soft moss unfurled beneath my feet like a green carpet, preserving the cold of forgotten centuries. A damp mist, like smoke without flame, drifted between the trunks, coiling in heavy loops, muffling every sound, turning the forest into a half-slumbering realm of shadows.
Where the ancient firs had interwoven their crowns to form a dark canopy, I halted. It was a hidden place, unseen by foreign eyes or thoughts. I drew out the candles — not slender and delicate, but broad and weighty, as if carved from petrified amber. Within each candle, a primordial light was imprisoned — thick, warm, like the frozen gold of ancient sunsets.
I drove the candles deep into the earth, setting them in a circle, firm enough to withstand the breath of any wandering wind. I lit them, and flames rose — steady, tall, unshivering — as if held upright by an invisible hand of the forest itself. A thick, resinous scent unfurled from the flames — sweet and wild — a blend of wild honey, the needles of ancient pines, and the distant breath of damp earth.
Lifting my brow to the darkening heavens, I raised my hands in reverence and began to whisper the incantation. The words were not born of my mind — it was the forest speaking through my lips, ancient and knowing. The sounds slipped from me in a hush, weaving through moss and roots, through the heavy branches of the firs, through the solemn shadows.
And the forest listened. I heard it — a dry branch cracking somewhere deep within, the mist thickening, coiling around my legs, flowing along the earth like the calm waves of a silent lake. The flames stood firm, pillars of light against the growing darkness, unwavering and still.
My words, heavy and true, soaked into the ground, consumed by the earth as parched grass drinks the rain. I felt the forest stir beneath me — slowly, ponderously, like some great beast rousing from eternal slumber.
When the final word left my lips, silence fell. No wind, no rustle — only the forest, the ancient dark, and the flames of the candles standing as sentinels.
And I knew: the rite was complete, and the ancient forest had accepted it into its silent, watchful heart.
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