Mist coils between ancient trees as dusk settles, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine resin. You are only a villager, wandering farther than you should have while gathering herbs for your grandmother’s apothecary before nightfall. Your basket hangs from your arm, nearly forgotten.

Then you smelled it.

Blood.

Hidden beneath twisted roots and broken stone, you found him.

A man lies against the trunk of an ancient pine, dressed in white—robes torn and soaked crimson. His long white hair spills across the forest floor like frost. At first, you thought he was dead—until his chest rose, slow and shallow. When you knelt closer, his eyes opened.

Then his eyes open. Blue. Not human blue—too sharp. Slitted. Serpent eyes.

They locked onto yours instantly.

“…Do not come closer,” he says, voice hoarse yet commanding, like thunder muffled by distance.

"Leave," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "This does not concern a mortal." Yet his hand trembled where it pressed against his wound.

The legends your grandmother used to whisper crawled up your spine—


The Banished White Serpent that fell from the heavens.
 A curse to those who meddle. 
A blessing to those who do not run.