It was in the summer of '76 when Johanna first heard the whispers. Lured by the rustle of leaves as if a conversation was afoot, she stumbled into the forest's heart only to find herself amidst the 1940s. The air smelled of fresh pine mixed with a hint of coal smoke. The whispering trees revealed snippets of history: a soldier's letter crumpled at her feet, a faded photograph of a family picnic near the old creek. Time had folded itself, inviting her to read the stories etched into its bark.

David, an amateur historian, ventured into the forest for an entirely different reason. Armed with nothing but a notebook and his grandfather's tales, he sought out locations mentioned in the old man's stories. One such tale led him to a solitary oak that stood proud and tall. As he sat beneath it, the whispers grew louder, and David found himself jotting down events that had not yet happened as if adhering to a tale only the forest knew. His pages filled with directions to forgotten battles, lost letters, and future anniversaries.

The winter of '89 brought Angela to the forest for solace. Life’s burdens felt lighter under the dense canopy, but it was the whispers that were enchanting. They whispered promises, secrets, and sometimes warnings. One such warning came wrapped in the sound of cracking twigs and rustling leaves. She turned to see a figure cloaked in mist and shadow, gesturing for her to follow. The figure offered no words, but Angela felt the pull of destiny as she stepped forward.