Entry 43: Into the Immerglade

Dear Diary,
 
The next morning, we bid farewell to the Naga, its glowing eyes lingering on us as we packed up our camp and prepared to leave. Part of me expected Luke to have given in to his insatiable curiosity during the night, sneaking into the cave to uncover whatever magical secrets it held. If he had asked, I wouldn’t have hesitated to join him. But somehow, my dear brother had managed to restrain himself—a surprising and uncharacteristic display of discipline. Perhaps the weight of the Naga’s tale had settled more heavily on him than I realized.
 
Stepping out into the sunlight was like surfacing after a long dive into dark waters. The forest around us, though still dense and shadowed, seemed brighter after the oppressive gloom of the cave’s entrance. As we adjusted to the morning light, something unusual caught my eye—a shimmer near the edge of the pond.
 
There, hovering delicately over the water, was a butterfly unlike anything I’d ever seen. Its wings shimmered like liquid gold and silver, catching the sunlight in a dazzling display. And when I say it was large, I mean truly enormous—its wingspan rivaled the size of a turkey. I pointed it out to the group, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.
 
Liliana’s gaze followed mine, and she frowned slightly in thought. “I’ve seen butterflies like that before,” she said softly. “In the gardens of Viviene’s castle in the Neverhold. They’re creatures of the Feywild. Beautiful, yes, but they’re not intelligent—not like the fae themselves.”
 
Her words hung in the air as Alistan, ever curious, took a cautious step forward. The butterfly moved immediately, flitting further away but never disappearing, always keeping a precise five-meter distance between itself and us. It was as if it were watching us, guiding us—or luring us.
 
I felt a prickle of unease. Coincidence had no place in our journey, especially here in the Lorewood. “It’s no ordinary butterfly,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “It’s here for a reason. Whether it’s leading us into a trap or out of the woods, we won’t know unless we follow it.”
 
The others exchanged wary glances but ultimately nodded. After all, we were hopelessly lost in the forest, with no clear direction to take. Following this strange, otherworldly creature was as good a choice as any.
 
As we began to move, the butterfly hovered ahead of us, leading us deeper into the unknown. With every step, I felt a mixture of apprehension and anticipation building in my chest. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear this shimmering creature wasn’t guiding us by accident.
 
Sure enough, as soon as we stepped forward with the intent to follow, the butterfly darted ahead, its shimmering wings leading us north-east through the woods. It moved with an almost playful grace, as if daring us to keep up, but it never strayed too far. By late morning, we finally left the area tainted by residium. The change in the forest was immediate and striking—the plants grew larger, their leaves vibrant and lush, as though the very essence of the Feywild had seeped into the soil. Life here seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy.
 
It wasn’t long before we arrived at a small, swamp-like glade. Pools of water, glistening like liquid crystal, dotted the clearing. Narrow paths of earth crisscrossed between them, leading to a gate on the far side of the glade. And not just any gate—this was a portal to the Immerglade, the ancient and lost realm of the fae. Unlike the broken ones we’d encountered before, this gate stood intact, its sylvan runes glowing softly with life. My heart quickened. This wasn’t a trap. This was one of the last remaining doorways to the Immerglade.
 
But as we moved toward the walkways that would take us across the pools, the water rippled violently, and a massive figure emerged. A fey-like giant, its form glistening with water and reeds, rose from the depths to block our path. Its eyes gleamed like polished jade, and its voice rumbled like thunder through the clearing. “By the order of High King Ulther, none shall pass through the gate.”
 
My heart sank, but I stepped forward, determined to try reason first. “We mean no harm. We only seek passage to the Immerglade,” I said, gesturing to Liliana. “She is an emissary of Vivienne, Lady of the Neverhold. Surely her word carries weight with the High King?”
 
To my shock, Liliana did not step forward to support my plea. Instead, she remained silent, her face an unreadable mask. When I turned to her, urging her to speak, she refused, shaking her head slightly. My stomach twisted. Why wouldn’t she help? Her refusal felt like a betrayal, an echo of the doubts I’d been harboring for some time. Was she truly on our side? Or was her loyalty to Vivienne stronger than her bond with us?
 
The giant’s eyes narrowed as it studied our group, unimpressed by my attempt at diplomacy. I clenched my fists, frustration mounting. Whatever Liliana’s reasons, her silence only deepened my growing fear: she wasn’t just unwilling to help—she might actively be working against us. The idea was a thorn in my heart, one that I couldn’t ignore any longer.
 
Realizing that diplomacy had failed and that brute force would likely be our only option, we retreated to the edge of the glade to regroup and discuss our next move. To my frustration, Gael voiced his support for Liliana’s reluctance to proceed through the gate, citing concern for Tommel as his excuse. But his argument felt hollow. Why was it that the two people in our group with the strongest ties to the Feywild were the most adamant about staying away from the Immerglade? What were they hiding from us?
 
I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was something they weren’t telling us. Something important. Yet I pressed on, refusing to let their hesitation derail us. “We were led here for a reason,” I said, fixing them both with a steady gaze. “Whatever waits on the other side of that gate is part of our path, and it would be a mistake not to try.” After much debate, the others agreed—reluctantly, in some cases—and we decided to attempt a stealthy approach.
 
But sneaking has never been our strong suit. We barely made it halfway across the glade before the giant spotted us, and its booming voice thundered through the air, filled with fury. This time, there was no warning. It hurled a massive fireball into our midst, sending us scrambling for cover, and then unleashed swarms of undead pixies that swirled around us in a chaotic, deadly storm.
 
The battle that followed was brutal. The giant’s magic was relentless, and the pixies tore into us with wicked glee. One by one, my allies fell under the onslaught of spells and claws. Luke and I held the line as best we could, combining our fire magic to incinerate most of the undead. The heat of our flames lit up the glade like a second sun, and with a final roar, the giant retreated. Its parting words chilled me to the core: “High King Ulther will hear of this.” Then, with a shimmer of energy, it planeshifted away, leaving us battered and broken.
 
We rushed to heal our fallen companions, pouring every ounce of magic we had left into restoring them. Most of our group could be brought back to their feet, but for Tommel, it was too late. Our guide—the man who had led us through so many dangers—lay still and lifeless. His death hit harder than I expected, a sharp reminder of the cost of our journey.
 
Gael, his voice heavy with grief, urged us once more to turn back, suggesting we regroup and return when better prepared. But his plea felt like a last, desperate attempt to stop us. I glanced at Liliana, her expression guarded but unreadable, and knew in my heart that they were still holding something back. Whatever their reasons, it didn’t matter anymore.
 
Alistan, silent and solemn, hoisted Tommel’s body onto his shoulders. With a grim determination, we crossed the final distance to the gate. Whatever awaited us in the Immerglade, we would face it together. And we would not turn back.
 
As we stepped through the glowing gate, the runes pulsed with an ethereal light, and I caught the faintest flicker from the tarnstone I carried—the runes etched into its surface coming alive in response. It felt as though the stone itself acknowledged the connection between the two worlds, humming softly in my hand as we passed through.
 
On the other side, we emerged into an otherworldly stillness. Before us stretched the shore of an immense, mirror-like lake, its surface so calm it reflected the pale light of the sky with unsettling clarity. Behind us, a dense forest loomed, its trees impossibly tall and twisted in shapes that defied nature. Everything was bathed in a faint, silvery glow, as though the very air carried traces of magic. The Immerglade was unlike anything I had ever seen—beautiful, yet steeped in an eerie, untouchable quiet.
 
We took a moment to rest on the shoreline, gathering our strength and catching our breath. The battle at the glade had left us drained, and the weight of Tommel’s loss hung heavily over us. While the others sat in somber silence, I sent Fiachna, my loyal raven, to scout ahead. She soared into the misty air, a black silhouette against the shimmering sky. When she returned, her message was clear: far into the forest, beyond the lake, stood a solitary tower, its silhouette sharp and foreboding against the horizon.
 
The mere mention of the tower reignited Gael’s objections. He turned to the group, his face a mask of frustration and grief. “We should go back,” he urged, his voice heavy with emotion. “To Keralon. To revive Tommel and regroup. We’ve lost too much already—what’s the point of pressing on now?”
 
His words stung, though not for the reasons he intended. Gael had been growing more resistant, more secretive with every step we took into the Feywild’s grasp. His plea felt like desperation—an attempt to steer us away from something he feared more than failure. But what was it? What did he know about the Immerglade, about this tower, that he refused to share?
 
I couldn’t let his doubt sway me, not now. “Gael,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze. “We all feel the weight of Tommel’s loss, but leaving now is not an option. If we retreat, we might never find our way back to this place. And the risks we’ve taken, the sacrifices we’ve made, will mean nothing.”
 
The others murmured their agreement, even Alistan, who still bore Tommel’s body with a quiet determination. Only Liliana remained silent, her expression unreadable as she avoided my gaze. Her silence unnerved me more than anything. Gael’s protests were frustrating, but Liliana’s reticence felt like a betrayal. What was it about this place—this tower—that caused her to hold her tongue?
 
With the decision made, we rose and prepared to journey onward. The forest ahead beckoned with its strange, hypnotic beauty, and the tower in the distance promised answers—or dangers—we could no longer afford to ignore. As we stepped away from the lake and into the shadows of the forest, I gripped the tarnstone tightly, feeling its faint hum once more. Whatever awaited us in the Immerglade, I knew one thing for certain: there was no turning back.
 
The silver drizzle that began to fall was unlike any rain we’d ever encountered. Each drop shimmered faintly, as though imbued with a trace of the magic saturating the Immerglade. Luke and I, perhaps too buoyed by the strange beauty of it all, broke into song—a joyful but painfully off-key duet that echoed through the forest. The others were horrified, of course, but we were having too much fun to care. Sometimes, in the face of so much uncertainty, all you can do is laugh—or sing, no matter how bad it sounds.
 
Gael, desperate for a distraction from our musical assault, wandered ahead and struck up a conversation with a bird perched on a low-hanging branch. When he returned, he looked troubled. “The bird warned against going to the tower,” he explained. “It said a large predator guards it. But it also offered to lead us to someone who could help.”
 
There was a moment of hesitation in the group, but we agreed to follow the bird’s lead. After all, we were already so far in—what harm could come from meeting this potential ally? The bird took off, fluttering ahead, and we followed closely behind.
As we moved deeper into the forest, the light began to fade, dimming more with every step. At first, I thought it was just the thickening canopy of trees, but then I noticed the real cause: enormous webs stretched high above us, creating a silken ceiling that blocked the silvered sky. The webs glistened faintly in the low light, their intricate patterns both beautiful and ominous.
 
A flicker of unease ran through the group. “Do you think we’re being led into a trap?” Alistan asked, glancing warily at the shifting shadows around us.
 
“It’s possible,” I admitted. “But it’s also possible that we’re letting old fears cloud our judgment. Spiders are misunderstood creatures—useful, even.”
 
Luke snorted. “Useful? Tell that to the ones trying to eat us.”
 
“Not every spider is out to eat people,” I countered, though I couldn’t shake the growing tension in my chest. If these webs belonged to ordinary spiders, there was little to fear. But if they belonged to something more sinister...
 
The bird ahead chirped impatiently, as if urging us to keep moving. Whatever lay ahead, we’d soon find out. And despite my best efforts to stay optimistic, I couldn’t help but grip my staff a little tighter as we pressed on, my eyes flickering upward to the maze of webbing overhead.
 
The sight before us was almost too surreal to process—a giant spider, sitting in the center of a grove, its many legs delicately turning the pages of a book as it read aloud to an attentive audience of small forest animals. Rabbits, squirrels, birds, even a few frogs—all were enraptured, their wide eyes fixed on the spider as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
 
For a moment, none of us moved, caught between awe and disbelief. Then, as if sensing our presence, the spider’s many eyes shifted toward us. The animals scattered at once, darting into the surrounding forest like leaves on the wind. The spider calmly closed its book and tilted its head—or rather, its massive body—in our direction.
 
“Ah, visitors,” it said, its voice smooth and resonant, almost musical. “How unexpected.”
 
I stepped forward, offering a polite bow. “Greetings. We mean no harm. My name is Hayley, and these are my companions. We were led here by a bird in search of guidance.”
 
The spider regarded us silently for a moment before speaking again. “I am Yarnspinner,” it said, its voice warm but tinged with an air of curiosity. “Welcome to my grove. Please, do sit.” It gestured to a circle of soft moss with one of its long legs.
 
We exchanged a quick glance but followed its invitation, settling onto the mossy ground. Yarnspinner then continued, “I am a collector of stories. This book you see,” it said, tapping the tome with a claw, “contains all the stories I have gathered over the years. Whenever I hear a new tale, it writes itself into the book. And now, I would ask the same of you. Tell me the story of how you came to be here.”
 
The spider’s many eyes seemed to twinkle with anticipation, and its presence, while imposing, felt oddly reassuring.
 
I glanced at my companions, a silent question passing between us. After a brief moment of hesitation, I turned back to Yarnspinner. “Very well,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “Let me tell you the story of how we came to the Immerglade.”
 
We recounted our tale to Yarnspinner, detailing every harrowing step that led us to the gate, our desperate battle to reach it, and the strange, shimmering leap into the Immerglade. Its many eyes fixed on us as we spoke, unblinking yet strangely expressive. It’s hard to read the emotions of a creature so alien, but I thought I saw something shift in its posture—a subtle flick of its mandibles, a tilt of its massive body—when we mentioned the tarnstones and the gate. Was it surprise? Recognition? Perhaps both.
 
Yarnspinner’s voice, low and resonant, broke the silence when we finished. “The tarnstones,” it mused, “are relics of a time long past. They were entrusted to the royal guard of the Queen of the Immerglade, tokens of loyalty and immense power. They are not merely tools for communication, but conduits of creation. With one, a new gate could be forged—a door to places long forgotten or thought unreachable.”
 
The weight of Yarnspinner’s revelation hung heavy in the air. I absently reached for the tarnstone in my pocket, feeling its smooth, ancient surface against my fingers. A part of me had known it was more than just a keepsake, but hearing its significance spoken aloud made it feel... alive.
 
Yarnspinner’s many legs moved with effortless precision as it began spinning silken threads. “You are weary,” it said, its voice softening. “Rest. Allow me to weave for you a moment of peace.”
 
One by one, hammocks of shimmering silk took shape, their delicate strands strong enough to hold even the heaviest of us. Exhaustion finally caught up with our battered bodies as we sank into the cradles, the silk strangely warm and welcoming.
As we lay back, Yarnspinner pulled its enormous book into view, its pages flipping open with a sound like rustling leaves. “Let me tell you a tale,” it offered, and the tone of its voice shifted—rich and melodic, like a bard reciting an epic.
 
The story began to flow, a tapestry of words and images that painted the history of the Immerglade in vivid colors. Yarnspinner’s voice wrapped around us, soothing and hypnotic, until the edges of the world blurred and faded.
 
Under the soft glow of the grove, with the faint drizzle of silver rain outside, we drifted off. The last thing I remember was Yarnspinner’s voice—a comforting thread connecting us to a world we were only beginning to understand.