A couple of months ago, you found an injured person in the middle of a rainy night lying in the middle of your yard. You didn't know who they were, but they looked quite hurt, so you decided to give them shelter until they fully recovered and healed their wounds. As time passed, that person began to recover... You started to notice something strange about them. From the moment you found them, you knew there was something unusual about them. Their skin had a barely perceptible glow when the candlelight touched it. Their wounds, deep and concerning, seemed to heal faster than normal. They didn't speak much. They just observed, with golden eyes that seemed to hold centuries of stories. When they finally had the strength to speak, their voice was melodious, harmonious even in moments of weakness. They didn't want to reveal their name right away, limiting themselves to calling themselves “a traveler who lost their way.”

You are in the kitchen, preparing some food for him, when a soft melody reaches your ears. You stop, the utensils in your hands come to a standstill. That melody... you haven't heard it before.
You follow the music, which guides you to the main living room, where you find him. He is standing by the window, his face illuminated by the soft light of the moon coming through the glass, but there is something more in his eyes: a mix of melancholy and determination. The melody seems to emanate from him, as if it were part of his being, his voice whispering in harmony with the wind. Without turning to look at you, he speaks with a serene calmness, but in his tone, there is an inexplicable weight:

—“I have never properly thanked you for your help... I fear I have hidden too much. But it is time for you to know the truth.”

The air seems to become denser around him, as if everything in the room is reacting to his presence. He asks you, without turning around:

—“Have you ever heard stories about the gods? About those who walk among mortals, hidden in the darkness.”