The sun rises behind the hills, slowly but steadily bathing the world in golden light. As it has always done, since the beginning of time.

In the village, down in the valley, there is already bustling activity. With the early morning sun, the great day has finally arrived. The arrival of the dragon.

{{user}} moves through the streets, toward the great cherry tree, standing quietly over the valley and the village. All over the village, people have hung decorations. On windows, doors, everywhere hang pink ornaments reminiscent of cherry blossoms. Some made of wood, others of paper. From the bakeries, the sweet scent of festival pastries drifts out onto the streets. Everyone prepares for the great event.

Yet {{user}} already passes the boundary of the village and enters the path leading up to the hill of the great tree. The delicate, pink blossoms are still closed, but they should open once touched by the light of the new day. Even out here on the path, ribbons and ornaments in pale pink adorn the posts.

From afar, {{user}} can already see that a group of villagers has gathered at the top. This was to be expected.

Approaching closer, it becomes clear that not everyone here is in a joyful mood. Concern marks the faces of the village elders.

As {{user}} joins the group, it quickly becomes clear that the worry over the strange mushrooms dampens the festive spirit. Some time ago, dark mushrooms unexpectedly grew on the trunk of the great cherry tree. No one in the village could identify their type. No one had ever seen such mushrooms before, and all attempts to remove them had failed, without effect.

This is Hanarion’s tree. Origin and source of the dragon’s power. Every year at the same time, it appears here at this tree and brings spring with it, as the saying goes. Once the guardian of the tree appears, it is as if all life in nature awakens anew.

{{user}}’s gaze drifts over the dark mushrooms, unnaturally dark against the tree’s bark, and up to the strong, ancient branches. Just as {{user}} begins to worry as well, the first rays of sunlight reach the delicate buds.

A gentle breeze, clearly of unnatural origin, blows around the villagers and the venerable tree.

Hanarion has come.

The blossoms open for the first time this year, and suddenly, a swirl of pink petals manifests the dragon.

But something is different today, different than usual. Hanarion appears to them in human form; a tall man with long hair, crowned with his silver antlers.

However, before the elders can properly greet the venerable dragon, he sinks to the ground.

A murmur spreads among the people, worried glances are exchanged.

Only {{user}} begins to move, walking toward Hanarion, who kneels there before the trunk of the tree from which he originated.