Image Description: The illustration shows three of the Mushroom Men and one of the Funky Fungi standing in a mystical forest setting. The background features the Sporalight Tree, glowing softly with an ethereal blue light, its branches stretching high above, casting a magical glow over the forest floor. The atmosphere is peaceful yet filled with mystery, as the tree’s shimmering spores fill the air.
In the foreground, the Mushroom Men — Portobello, Chanterelle, and Button — stand together, their caps glowing softly. Their expressions are focused and serious, reflecting their deep connection to the forest and its protection. Boogie, one of the Funky Fungi, is in the scene as well, caught mid-dance. Their vibrant, glowing caps shimmer with energy, adding a playful contrast to the more serious Mushroom Men.
The forest around them is alive with subtle details — glowing mushrooms and mossy stones, a sense of magic and wonder permeating the space. The trees are tall and dark, their trunks twisted in unique shapes, with faint glimmers of light filtering through the canopy. The ground is soft and covered in glowing fungi, further emphasizing the whimsical, enchanted nature of Misilanina.
Overall, the image conveys a sense of wonder, mystery, and the beginning of a new, magical adventure. The characters are poised and ready, standing together in unity, as they prepare to face the challenges ahead in the mystical land of Misilanina.
Chapter Seven – The Dreaming Morel
The spiral tunnel opened into a narrow passage, the walls damp and veined with glowing tendrils. The air was thick with spores that pulsed faintly in time with the group’s footsteps, as if the forest were holding its breath.
“We’re heading north-east, I think,” Portobello murmured, consulting his moss-map. “If we keep going, we’ll reach the Mycofalls — and the dreaming caves.”
“The Morel Mystics live there,” Hera said. “If anyone understands what we saw in the memory ring… it’s them.”
Boogie adjusted his cap, which had started to sag. “Mystics, huh? Do they speak in riddles or just snore a lot?”
“Both,” said Agi, without turning around.
After a time, the narrow tunnel widened into a vast, echoing cavern. Water trickled gently from the ceiling, forming thin streams that flowed through channels carved by time. Strange bulbous fungi lined the floor like soft cushions, and overhead, long ribbons of sporelight hung like lanterns made from mist.
And there, rising from the centre of the cavern on a tall, spiralling stalk, sat a figure.
Their cap was deeply ridged and honeycombed — unmistakably Morel. Their robes were layered in dried moss and woven mycelium threads. They did not blink. They did not move.
“Uh,” Button whispered, “are they alive?”
The figure slowly turned its head. “Alive. Sleeping. Dreaming. Listening. All things. All one.”
Boogie took a small step back. “Okay, riddle it is.”
“I am Myco,” the Morel said. Their voice was slow, like tree roots growing. “You bring the hum of memory. The echoes reached even here.”
Shiitake stepped forward. “You saw it?”
Myco nodded. “The Hollow stirs. The old grief whispers again.”
Chanterelle frowned. “What is it? The Hollow Hunger? The Decay?”
“Not Decay,” Myco said. “Not yet. But a hollow thing does not fill itself. It seeks. It feeds.”
Button looked up. “Can it be stopped?”
“The forest speaks. But not all voices have returned.” Myco raised one long, finger-like spore limb and gestured to a pool at the base of their stalk. “Look.”
The group peered into the water. Reflections shimmered — images of other mushroom tribes: tall, proud Puffballs marching in a line; glowing Enoki dancing in spirals; gnarled Truffles in deep council; even shadowy Cordyceps at the edge of sight.
“They must be found,” Myco said. “Only in the full circle can the Hollow be named. Only in unity, unspoiled by fear.”
Hera bowed slightly. “Then the circle will be called.”
Groove clapped slowly. “Deep stuff. You sure you’re not in a band?”
The Morel blinked once. “We dream of music. But rhythm belongs to the Enoki.”
Agi stepped forward. “Then that’s where we go next.”
“West,” said Myco. “To the canopy groves. The Enoki await. They already sing.”
The group turned to leave, but Myco raised one final warning.
“Beware the shape beneath. It watches now. Not with eyes, but with memory.”
And as the Mushroom Men and Funky Fungi made their way out of the dream-cave, a soft pulse trembled through the ground — just enough to rattle the oldest spores.
To Be Continued…
Blind Man Makes 