The village of Elmhollow lay nestled in a valley, surrounded by ancient trees that whispered secrets to those who dared to listen. The people there spoke little of the old days, and when they did, it was with hushed voices and wary glances toward the forest. Few had ever ventured beyond the edge of the woods, where the trees grew so thick that sunlight barely reached the ground. But among the villagers, there was one tale that never faded—of the Ancient Curses. It began with a man named Elias Thorn, a traveler who arrived in Elmhollow centuries ago, carrying a bundle wrapped in tattered cloth. He was not from the region, and his accent was strange, as if spoken through a veil of time. He asked for shelter, and the villagers, kind but cautious, granted him a small hut on the outskirts of the town. No one knew where he came from, nor what he sought. But he left behind something no one could explain. Years passed, and the village prospered. Then, without warning, the first curse struck. A child vanished from their bed, leaving only a single red thread tied around the bedpost. No one saw them again. The next year, a farmer found his fields overgrown with black vines that writhed like living things. When he tried to cut them, they bled dark sap and curled away. Soon after, the village began to change. Shadows moved where none should be, and the wind carried voices that were not human. The elders gathered and spoke of an old legend: the Curse of the Thorn. It was said that Elias had once been a sorcerer, cursed by a forgotten god for stealing sacred knowledge. His punishment was to walk the earth until his name was erased from memory, and every soul who remembered him would suffer a piece of his torment. But the villagers had long since forgotten his name, or so they thought. In time, the curses became more frequent. A woman’s reflection in the mirror began to move independently, whispering words she did not understand. A man’s dreams turned into nightmares that bled into reality, where he relived his own death over and over. The air grew heavy, as if the very sky held its breath. And still, the villagers clung to their lives, unaware that the curse was not just a punishment—it was a debt. One day, a young girl named Lira stumbled upon an old book in the attic of her grandmother’s house. The pages were brittle, ink faded, but the symbols were unmistakable. They matched the markings carved into the stone pillars at the edge of the forest. As she traced the lines with her fingers, the air around her shimmered, and for a moment, she saw a figure standing behind her—a man with hollow eyes and a crown of thorns. She gasped and dropped the book, but the vision remained, etched into her mind. She began to research the history of Elmhollow, digging through dusty journals and forgotten records. What she found was unsettling. Elias Thorn had not simply been a traveler—he had been a guardian of something ancient, a key to a power that had been sealed away. The villagers had unknowingly disturbed that seal, and now, the curse was awakening. Lira returned to the forest, guided by the book’s instructions. She followed a path that seemed to shift under her feet, leading her deeper into the woods. The trees grew taller, their branches weaving together to form a canopy so dense that even the stars were hidden. At the center of a clearing stood a stone altar, covered in moss and ivy. On it lay a single silver ring, engraved with the same symbol she had seen in the book. As she reached out, the air crackled with energy. The ground beneath her trembled, and a voice echoed in her mind—not loud, but deep and ancient. "You have awakened the debt." Suddenly, the world around her blurred, and she was no longer in the forest. She stood in a place that felt both familiar and foreign, where the sky was a swirling mass of colors and the ground pulsed like a heartbeat. The figure from before appeared again, this time clearer. His face was not cruel, but sorrowful, as if he too was bound by the curse. "You are the last of the remembrance," he said. "But will you pay the price?" Before she could answer, the vision shattered, and she awoke in the clearing, the ring still in her hand. The forest was silent, as if holding its breath. She did not know what she had done, nor what would come next. But in her heart, she felt the weight of something ancient stirring, waiting for the next chapter of the curse to begin. And somewhere, deep within the woods, the shadows shifted, and the wind carried a new whisper—one that had not been heard in centuries.