Long ago, when kingdoms still dreamed of magic and the world had not yet forgotten the language of trees, there lived a girl named Elira in a small village on the edge of the Blackwood Forest. The village was simple: stone cottages with moss creeping up their sides, smoke curling from crooked chimneys, and fields that yielded only enough wheat and barley to keep its people alive through the winters. The villagers had long ago given up on expecting miracles. They feared the forest, whispered of curses, and kept their heads down.