he Portal in the Forest: A Fantasy Short

The forest had always been still—so still that the silence felt sacred. Tall pines whispered in the wind only when the moon rose high, and animals moved like shadows, respectful of some unseen presence. But one evening, under a sky tinged with violet and gold, something changed.

Lina had wandered deeper than usual.

Her village bordered the forest, and the elders often warned of going beyond the old stone circle. “The trees past that point remember things,” her grandmother once said. Lina never asked what they remembered. She just smiled and wandered anyway, carrying her leather sketchbook, hoping to capture the light slanting through the branches or the glint of a deer’s eye.

That day, she found neither. Instead, she found the door.

It wasn’t a door in the way you expect—not made of wood or iron—but a shimmer in the air, like heat over stone. It pulsed between two ancient oaks whose roots curled like guardians around a pool of moss. The shimmer whispered her name. Not loudly, not with urgency, but gently—as if it had always known her.

Lina stepped closer.

Her hand passed through the veil and tingled as if dipped in ice and fire at once. The forest held its breath. Birds stopped singing. Even the wind paused. Lina took one step forward—and vanished.

The other side was not like her world. It smelled of silver rain and distant thunder. The sky was streaked with three suns, low on the horizon, and trees shimmered with translucent leaves that caught the light and refracted it in impossible hues. Creatures darted through the underbrush—quick, silent, and half-made of light. She should have been afraid. But she wasn’t.

Because this world recognized her.

A boy appeared, about her age, dressed in dark emerald robes embroidered with stars. “You finally came,” he said, not with surprise, but with relief. “The Forest chose you.”

“Chose me for what?” Lina asked, heart thudding.

“To fix the fracture.”

He pointed behind her. The portal shimmered and blinked—once, then again, then dimmed. “It’s closing,” he whispered. “And if it shuts before you restore balance, neither world survives.”

Lina didn’t understand it all—not yet. But something deep inside her stirred, like a memory returning. She nodded, gripping her sketchbook tighter. Not for drawing now, but as a map, a key, and maybe—just maybe—a weapon.

She had crossed the threshold. There was no going back.

Not until the forest remembered peace.