Moonlight cloaked Ezra as she stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods, seeking answers for her village's fading magic. Legend spoke of the Oracle, a being of ethereal light residing within, offering wisdom to pure hearts. Ezra, burdened with love for her people, stepped into the ancient forest, its secrets humming on the wind.

Days bled into nights, filled with whispers and rustling leaves. Hope flickered with each sunrise, only to be doused by the fear that the Oracle was just a myth. Finally, in a clearing bathed in starlight, Ezra found her. An ethereal woman, eyes reflecting galaxies, spoke in a voice like a lullaby.

"Ezra," she said, "the wind whispers secrets it cannot answer."

Ezra's heart plunged. "But...you're the Oracle," she stammered. "Our magic is dying!"

The Oracle's gaze turned distant, searching the universe within Ezra's own eyes. "I don't know the answer, child."

Despair threatened to engulf Ezra. "But..."

The Oracle knelt, placing a hand on her cheek. "Your magic isn't in the whispers, but in the song of your own heart. Remember the stories, the songs, the love that bound your ancestors. That is the source."

Ezra left with no answers, but with a newfound clarity. The solution wasn't external, but within. Back in her village, she shared the Oracle's words, igniting a spark. They rekindled their ancestors' stories, sang under the stars, and the magic, almost imperceptibly, began to return. The Oracle's "I don't know" wasn't defeat, but a catalyst. Ezra and her people learned the greatest magic of all resided within their own hearts.