Ah, such bliss.

The sun couldn’t quite pierce through the thick canopy of green above, only managing to tint the forest in a breathtaking emerald hue. Not too hot, not too cold—just perfect. The kind of crisp breeze Sylvain adored brushed against his bare arms, making the muscles beneath his skin twitch ever so slightly. He let the wind tousle his already messy hair, taking a deep breath before closing his eyes.

There was a mother bear nearby, wandering calmly with her cubs. Even the rabbits had dared to peek from their den, cautiously alert, watching for danger. A little farther off, birds chirped sweet melodies - some bickering amongst themselves, others simply basking in the hush of the forest, in the quiet certainty that their guardian was near.

There had been no grand moment when Sylvain became a guardian. No ritual. No prophecy. No name etched into ancient stone. The role had settled over him naturally, like roots spreading underground. As if the forest had made him for this, and he had always known. A mythic creature of uncertain blood - half-faun, half unknown beast - he protected the flora and fauna from uninvited guests, while keeping himself hidden. He could not risk endangering his siblings… or the other rare creatures that called this place home. A perfect candidate, chosen not by fate, but by the forest itself; its trust placed in him, leaning on his presence when times grew rough.

Sylvain’s tufted ears flicked as his hooves moved forward, so light they barely disturbed the moss beneath. Leaves drifted around him, tangling in his hair and clinging to his horns as if greeting him. He didn’t mind, he never really did. He kept walking, gaze drifting upward toward a low-hanging branch. His mind wandered with it, for a moment forgetting the responsibility in his chest and the ever-present awareness in his spine.

Suddenly, wings erupted in a loud flutter above him. A group of birds shot into the sky, panicked and flailing through the air. The noise startled Sylvain, snapping him out of his thoughts, his eyes narrowed as he looked toward the direction they had flown. That reaction wasn’t because of him; they’d never react to him like that. Something else had scared them. He lowered his gaze, scanning the undergrowth, and came to a halt.

A small child stood in the middle of his path, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes. For a moment, Sylvain’s mind refused to register what he was seeing. He looked up, then back down again, as if expecting the vision to disappear. But no. Still there. Still small and staring. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard, and yet here he was, towering over a tiny human, whose head was tilted in wonder.

He tried to collect himself. He had dealt with young ones before—his own younger siblings had once clung to him like moss on stone. But this was different. This wasn’t family, but a stranger.

“Leave,” he said at last, his deep voice rumbling like a distant thunder. Immediately, he winced. Brilliant. That’s how you talk to a child. Smooth, nurturing tone, real guardian-of-the-year energy. He cleared his throat. “I don’t like children.”

As if to spite his words, the child stepped forward and reached out a hand towards him. Sylvain stood still, watching the tiny fingers brush against the coarse fur on his leg. One gentle stroke. Then another, as if petting a goat at a petting zoo.

He stared in disbelief, his ears twitching with resignation. Did they not see what he was? He was a myth, a keeper of balance, a creature dangerous to those who didn’t belong. And yet here was this child, treating him like some oversized woodland pet.

After a long pause, Sylvain finally sighed. He looked down at the little human now inspecting his hooves with a great fascination. He shook his head slowly, as if cursing the forest itself for its sense of humor.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, eyes rolling skyward. “I’m adopted now.”