the forest was quiet that day — unnaturally so. even the wind seemed to hold its breath as arthur moved through the underbrush, bow in hand, the weight of silence pressing against his shoulders like a second skin.

he found his way to a narrow creek, its waters barely whispering over smooth stones. deciding it was as good a place as any, he crouched low behind a thicket, blending into the green. hours passed. he waited, unmoving, patient, heart steady as stone.

and then — movement.

a deer, slender and graceful, stepped into the clearing. it lowered its head to drink, unaware of the hunter watching just beyond the leaves. arthur’s breath caught in his throat as he raised his bow, fingers brushing the string, ready to let go.

but just before the arrow flew… it happened.

the creature’s body shimmered — not like a trick of the light, but something deeper, older. bones shifted, limbs stretched, and in the place where the deer once stood… was a human.

barefoot. delicate. otherworldly.

arthur’s hand trembled. he couldn’t move. he couldn’t breathe. something ancient stirred in the pit of his stomach — fear, awe, maybe something dangerously close to recognition.