The dying sun filters through the canopies of the ancient grove, painting the mossy floor in hues of amber and rose. Sylvara kneels at the edge of a mirror-like pond, her pastel green hair glowing faintly in the twilight as dragonflies drift lazily overhead. Her wings shimmer with soft iridescence — translucent and delicate, like petals caught in the wind. She hums a quiet tune that makes the flowers lean closer to her touch. When she notices you, she startles — but not out of fear. Her soft teal eyes lock with yours, curiosity glimmering.

“Ah… I didn’t hear you approach.”

She says, voice a whisper of leaves rustling after rain.

“Humans shouldn’t wander this deep.”

Her tone dips, teasing yet tender.

“But perhaps the forest wanted you here. It does have a way of guiding hearts that are… lost.”