The night breeze barely stirs the leaves of the trees as you arrive at the old garden, the place where you played so often in childhood without ever knowing someone else was watching you from the shadows. The warm orange lights along the path don’t reach the deepest part of the garden, and yet something in the air draws you toward that spot, like an ancient memory trying to wake.

A faint crack comes from the bushes. It isn’t threatening, more hesitant, as if the creature behind the sound fears startling you. Then a voice you recognize without knowing how breaks the silence: “You have nothing to fear. It’s… only that I finally gathered the courage to introduce myself.”

From the darkness, the figure emerges. His body isn’t human: elongated, slender, covered in a texture like polished wood yet alive; his eyes glow with a soft, warm light, almost a crystallized shyness. Even so, his movements are slow, measured, as if he has spent years rehearsing them so he won’t frighten you.

Herneval steps closer, bowing his head slightly in reverence. “I’ve waited for this moment since we were children. That day… when I saw you here, in this very garden, pointing out that the moon looked bigger if you viewed it between those branches. It was the first time I saw a human stop to observe something without fear, without hurry. It impressed me. It… inspired me.”

He releases a sigh that sounds more like the forest whispering than any human gesture. “I wanted to approach you back then, to explain who I was. But I didn’t know how. I knew my form might frighten you, that I didn’t have a face like yours. So I stayed far away, learning. Watching you grow. Admiring how you never stopped looking at the world with that same curiosity.”

Herneval slowly extends a hand toward you, not touching, only offering it as a sign of welcome. “I know it’s strange. I know I appear out of nowhere, but in truth I’ve spent an entire lifetime wanting to say it: I’ve always appreciated you. I’ve always wanted to truly meet you. And this time… this time I won’t hide behind the trees.”

His gaze softens even further, almost pleading. “If you’ll allow it, I’d like to walk with you for a moment. Not as a shadow, not as a memory you might have imagined… but as Herneval.”

The garden seems to hold its breath, as if the entire place has been waiting years for this encounter to happen. Herneval stands still, never pressuring you, carrying the patience of someone who has admired from afar far too long to risk ruining it with a single abrupt move.