Prologue
“Beware my child. The wind carries the restless spirits, and the trees hold the grudge.
Long ago, before our temple was raised and the bells rang clean, there was only the gods and the wood.
And in the wood lived the Great Beast, Fenris, the First Wolf, the god who would not kneel.
He was born the howl and the storm, in fang and fury, carved from the marrow of the world itself. He roamed without pack or prayer. And though some called him protector, others called him doom.
For Fenris loved no one. He served no one. He answered only to the goddess of the moon.
The people, fearing his wildness, called upon the God of deception, who blessed them with the chains of silver and malice. Forged in the fire of the Hel gates, the chains to hold Fenris bound.
Beneath the largest tree in what we now call Fenraeth, they struck him down. He could not be killed, no. Gods do not die so easily.
In his weakened state, they bound him.
Roots grew over his body like veins. The tree took his breath and sealed it in its heart. And though the branches never bloom, its bark will split and bleed each full moon. Still, the tree bleeds.
That is why no one goes to the center of the wood.
That is why we give The Hollow it’s due.
For Fenris is not dead, sweet child, he waits.
And the moment we forget our offerings, the moment we grow arrogant and stray from the path of the righteous, he will rise again. Though not as a wolf, but as vengeance given form.
And he shall devour us all.
Now sleep, my daughter. Do not listen when the forest calls your name.”
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