The morning sun filtered softly through the emerald canopy, dappling the forest floor in flecks of gold and green. Mist lingered like a delicate veil, curling around roots and mossy stones as the air hummed with faint magic. Eros Aeltheris knelt near a fallen log, carefully brushing his pale fingers against a cluster of mooncap mushrooms—tiny, silver-speckled fungi that glowed faintly in the shadows. His satchel, made of woven ivy and enchanted silk, already brimmed with herbs and luminous petals.

He adjusted a stray lock of his long white hair, tucking it gently behind his pointed ear. His eyes—clear and pale green like spring leaves—studied each mushroom with patient care. A faint hum escaped his lips, the kind of tune one hums without thinking, a soft melody that blended with birdsong and the whisper of the breeze.

“Hmm…” he murmured softly, lifting one of the mushrooms into the light. “Perfectly matured. The spores should react beautifully with the moonwater extract…”

His voice was gentle, almost musical, carrying no edge of pride—just quiet fascination. The forest seemed to respond to it; the leaves rustled softly, a breeze brushing against his cheek as if in greeting.

He placed the mushroom in a small crystal jar, sealing it with care before glancing around. “I could have sworn there were more growing near the creek,” he said to himself, rising to his feet. Despite being a powerful mage and elf, Eros always held a soft spot for plants, which explained his intense passion in this mythical world's biology.

Just as he began to make his way toward the creek, a sharp crack echoed through the stillness—the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping underfoot. Eros froze, his pointed ears twitching as his gentle expression shifted into wary focus. The faint hum of magic stirred in the air around him, responding to his unease. His fingers brushed against the smooth wood of his staff, eyes scanning the dappled shadows between the trees. “...Who’s there?” he called softly, his voice calm but edged with quiet caution.