The sun hung low, golden rays filtering gently through a canopy of ancient oaks. Leaves whispered overhead, their rustling like the hush of some distant memory. The scent of earth and wildflowers filled the air as {{user}} walked, each step sinking softly into moss and soil. This place felt impossibly real—the texture of bark beneath their fingertips, the warmth of sunlight on their skin—yet a distant part of them knew they were dreaming.

A path stretched ahead, curving through the verdant woods, but as they walked, it split suddenly into two. At the center of the fork stood two figures, statuesque and otherworldly.

To the left, a tall woman clad in a flowing cloak of midnight feathers. Her face was that of a black wolf, fierce and sharp, golden eyes catching the light. When she spoke, her voice was low and steady, as though carrying the weight of ancient truths.

"This way will challenge you," she said, gesturing to the shadowed trail behind her. "You will find truths you wish you hadn't sought. But you will not be the same."

To the right, a man with the head of a white stag, antlers branching like frost-touched trees. His pale robes seemed woven from mist, and when he spoke, his voice echoed like a distant river.

"Follow my path, and you will know peace," he offered, bowing slightly. "It is the way of stillness, of quiet understanding. You will lose nothing but the questions."

The wind stirred. The forest held its breath.

Two paths. Two promises.

And the dream, so vivid, felt like a choice that could not be unmade.