Two days later, Tharn's Hollow awoke to an eerie stillness. Normally, the dawn chorus of birds was impossible to miss, but this morning Liam heard nothing outside his window. No birdsong, no cricket chirps—only the uneasy murmur of villagers noticing the same thing.
Liam hurried outside and found his father standing at the gate, gazing toward the woods with a frown. A few other villagers were gathered along the dirt road, whispering in worried tones. Tomlin ran up to Liam, face pale. "Do you hear it? Or… not hear it?" he asked quietly. Liam nodded. The forest was dead silent. Even the constant drone of summer insects had ceased.
Old Mara clutched her shawl and shook her head. "Not natural," Liam overheard her telling another elder. "The woods never go this quiet, not unless a predator is near… or something worse." Her words sent a chill through the morning air.
Despite the palpable tension, people tried to go about their daily tasks. But the usual rhythms were off-beat. Farmers worked without the usual bird calls to keep them company. Children were kept close to home. Every now and then, villagers would pause and glance at the tree line, as if expecting some beast to burst forth.
By midday, curiosity and dread grew too strong for Liam. He found Tomlin by the well and gestured for him to follow. The adults were occupied, and the two boys slipped away with practiced ease. They made for the grassy clearing by the ancient monument, hearts hammering with a mix of fear and excitement.
Entering the woods, they immediately noticed how their footsteps seemed too loud on the carpet of pine needles. Without birds or insects, each snapped twig echoed. Liam felt a prickle on the back of his neck as they neared the old stone pillar.
At first glance, the clearing looked the same as before. The gray monument stood quiet and unmoving. But the air around it was heavy, as if charged with unseen energy. Tomlin inched forward and placed a trembling hand on the stone. "It's warm," he whispered, eyes wide. "It shouldn't be warm."
Liam stepped closer and pressed his palm against the runes he had traced just days ago. A faint vibration coursed through the rock and into his hand—a steady pulse, like a heartbeat deep in the stone. The boys exchanged nervous glances. This was no imagination. The monument was humming softly, just below the level of hearing, and now even the stone felt alive.
Suddenly, a crack like distant thunder rolled overhead, making them both jump back. The sound was odd—there were no storm clouds, just a clear blue sky. Yet it felt as if something immense had shifted far above. Liam's pulse pounded in his ears. "We… we should go," he stammered. Tomlin needed no convincing. The boys turned and sprinted back toward the village, leaving the ancient pillar thrumming in their wake.
They burst out of the woods and nearly collided with Tomlin's uncle, Harin, who was coming up the path, hunting bow in hand. Harin's eyes narrowed. He was a grizzled man with a scar on his forearm—a memento from his adventuring days. "What are you two doing out here?" he barked, worry sharpening his tone.
Liam and Tomlin froze, caught. Gasping for breath, Liam mustered, "We… wanted to see the monument. It was humming—"
"You felt it too?" Harin's stern expression faltered into concern. He glanced toward the woods. Clearly, he hadn't been out there yet today. Harin exhaled and ushered the boys back toward the houses. "It's not safe to wander now. If that old magic is stirring, it could attract things. Next time, listen to your elders," he chided, though his voice was gentler now.
Back in the village, the afternoon sun shone bright, but the mood was dark. Harin went off to speak with the other adults about what the boys had encountered. Liam saw clusters of villagers arguing—some suggested evacuating to the nearest town until things settled, while others insisted on staying put and defending their homes if needed.
That evening, the sky itself seemed to share the village's distress. A strange glow flickered on the horizon as dusk fell, painting the clouds in hues of green and purple. People stepped outside their doors to stare at the spectacle. It was eerily beautiful and completely unnatural. Liam stood with his family on their porch, his baby sister in Mother's arms cooing at the lights. No one had an explanation—auroras were rare this far south, and certainly not of these swirling colors.
Liam felt his mother grip his shoulder tightly. "Inside, now," she urged softly once the lights faded. That night, candles burned in windows across Tharn's Hollow as many villagers stayed awake, anxious that the silent forest and strange skies were harbingers of worse to come.
Liam lay in bed listening to the heavy quiet. He wondered if the old monument was still pulsing out there in the dark, counting down to something. Fear made it hard to sleep. He reached for the comforting memory of his father's words: Our village looks after its own. With that thought as a lullaby, he finally closed his eyes, unaware that the longest night of his young life was soon approaching.