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 Six – Whispers in the Hollow
The spiral tunnel carried them gently downward, the walls pulsing faintly with sporelight. Threads of glowing mycelium twisted like vines, illuminating ancient markings carved into the root-stone.
Agi traced one with her fingertip. “These are Fly Agaric sigils. Older than anything I’ve seen. Someone’s been here before.”
“But not for a very long time,” said Hera, his mane brushing the tunnel’s edges. “The forest has forgotten… almost.”
They stepped into a vast chamber.
It was breathtaking.
The ceiling was a dome of woven roots, glowing with threads of bioluminescent colour. At the centre of the floor lay a perfect ring of mushrooms — not living ones, but carved from crystalised spores, each shaped like a different tribe. Shiitake. Portobello. Chanterelle. Fly Agaric. Lion’s Mane. Even strange forms none of them recognised.
Boogie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this… a memory ring?”
“It’s more than that,” Shiitake said. “It’s a circle of remembrance. A place where the forest stores its stories.”
Button hopped forward, nearly stepping inside.
“Careful,” Chanterelle said, grabbing his cap. “You don’t walk into memory. You let it walk into you.”
A soft pulse hummed through the floor.
The ring began to shimmer. The room dimmed — and then filled with shapes. Shadows. Echoes.
They saw a vision: the Sporalight Tree burning white-hot in ancient times, surrounded by panicked Mushroom Men. Cracks tore through the forest floor. Spores darkened. A scream echoed — not of a voice, but of the forest itself.
“That’s the Decay,” Hera said grimly. “I never knew it looked like that.”
Groove’s voice wavered. “But… that can’t be now, right?”
“No,” Agi said quietly. “But it’s remembering… because something is repeating.”
The vision shifted. A darker shape rose in the distance — not quite a creature, more like a shadow with form. Not fully seen. Not fully gone.
Then, silence.
The ring went still.
“We’re not alone down here,” Portobello murmured. “And I don’t mean us.”
Hera turned to the far wall, where a narrow crevice breathed cool air into the chamber.
“There are other tribes,” he said. “Some we haven’t seen in generations. They may feel this stirring too.”
“Then we have to find them,” said Chanterelle. “If we’re going to protect Misilanina… we’ll need everyone.”
And for the first time in days, Shiitake nodded without hesitation.
“Agreed.”
As the group began to move again, Button looked back at the memory ring — and for just a second, he thought one of the unfamiliar mushroom carvings turned to face him.
He blinked.
It didn’t move again.
But deep in the dark, something was definitely watching.
To Be Continued…
Blind Man Makes 