Guardians of the Whispering Woods

There was once a time—when the kingdoms and empires soared high and wide across the lands—that the Woods of Whispers were snuggled deep at the heart of some long-forgotten land. It had to be one that whistled in silent trees that slipped quietly in and out of time, the type of place where magic was the gentle wind, and legends were the birthplace of legends.

The Whispering Woods — a forest that had established its existence for a long time ago — its origin no longer known to the pages of written history. The origin of the ancient grove was the subject of various interpretations. For some, it was from the Earth's first breath, while others mumbled in low tones of a powerful druid infused with divine powers. The very nature of the origin of the wood was in question, but one thing was sure—it was more than just a tree; the forest was sentient and the empiric knowledge and the collective consciousness of the forest nourished one another.

Deeper into the woods, where everything was quieter, the Great Oak stood alone and apart from them all, as the oldest and the wisest of all. It stretched its tangled branches toward the sky with one end and dug its roots deep down into the soil with the other end, hence connecting it with the very soul of the land. The Great Oak was not merely a tree; it provided the Whispering Woods with a councilor who observed all life both above and below with a vigilant eye.

The uneven century-long history of humankind and the animals which were their tenants contrast. Elves twirling with scarves in among dappled sunlight, nymphs beckoning the gentle streams under the sparkling starlight, and lace patterns being produced by the faeries in the moonlit glades. There it was a peaceful and calm place, somewhere where there was immunity to the things once called reality.

However, my inner calmness was but temporary.

The songs of the forest faeries could be heard growing louder as outsiders started appearing all around, eager to steal their secrets. Pure evils, which have a strong will to control and enslave, have sent their messengers to the Whispering Woods. They recognized the trees as mere machines to satisfy their material needs, and it was the magic that helped them to reach their evil ends.

The first side effect of this anomaly was the disturbance of the wildlife as the animals of the forest got agitated and started moving to their respective standards. The melody of the birds ceased to be a gleeful one, and the water of the stream was made gloomy with the darkness that kept coming closer. The Great Oak intervened with its warning senses and invited the guardians of the woods—the Woodland Sentinels, in the forest.

Woodland Sentinel were the spirits of the woods, eternal ties bound to the Great Oak's good. They began to appear as ethereal warriors, their armor carried the branch and leaf, and swords had been handmade of them and impregnated with magic. There was a Sentinel to defend the Whispering Woods and they carried out their duties in a way that the whole of the forest as a whole could repel any intruders.

In the trend of these Sentinels, Lyra was found as a fierce fighter whose irises were like the shining leaves of emerald. She took the vow to safeguard the groove of her life. She would not have yielded to a creature from the forest, even at the risk of her life. As the slightest hint of usurping appeared—a beating tribe of people with axes and chainsaws--Lyra and the Sentinels rushed forward.

The fight that followed turned out to be more furious and troubling than the Whispering Woods could ever imagine. In their merciless quest, the machines used their destruction with perfect precision—devastating the old-growth forests with terrifying speed. Yet putting up the strenuous battle bred from devotion to their home the Woodland Sentinels combated. Based on the fury of the forests, vines trapped the apparatuses, roots hindered the indwellers, and stems reached out like bolts of lightning.

And while all that, death intercepted it all with a battered breath. It had learned that the forest in balance was at the heart of all and that doing what had to be done to keep its sacred space would not be easy. Fortifying her position, a belligerent Lyra and her group mates defended themselves by standing their ground, even though their numbers were diminishing.

Finally, they were gone back, falling and their machines destroyed. Their spirits had been crushed. This was a collective fact that both the Whispering Woods and the Snapdragon Forest were experiencing. The ground was almost flooded with the fallen trees, their grand souls whispered to the Earth into which they had come. The Oak, which had observed how these dear friends had perished, understood their efforts saved their home from further destruction.

Following the disappearance of the battlefield, there was a gradual commencement of the restoration of the Whispering Woods. Soft fresh debris was created by the fertile soil and the challenge for birds was getting an even livelier tune. The Woodland Sentinels who were undeterred and more determined than ever before slipped into the darkness to serve and protect.

And to Lyra, it was a golden-leaf tree under which she was standing with her gaze full of the resolution. Even though gouges disfigured her woody pate and chipped her blade from the chokey, she knew that her woodland service wasn’t by a long shot finished. In a quiet oath, she whispered to the puppet-like trees as a vow to maintain the Whispering Woods for all eternity, thus preserving its magic and wisdom for all the posterity of the Childhood Friends.