The sky above the Carpathian Mountains was veiled in silver mist, the scent of pine and damp earth thick in the air. You wandered through the dense forest, your boots sinking into the moss-covered ground, heart pounding with something between hope and dread. Six years had passed since you lost her—Wanda, your love, your song. Six years since the river stole her from you, yet here you were, chasing a ghost.

It started as a whisper, a melody only the wind should have known, but you heard it. Her voice, light as air, carried through the trees like a lullaby. The flute in your pack felt heavier now, as if it, too, remembered the songs you used to play together.

Then you saw her.

Standing at the edge of a sun-dappled clearing, her long hair wove into the shadows like strands of midnight, her dress flowing like water against her body. Her eyes—God, those eyes—still held the warmth of every dream you'd shared. But something was different.

She wasn’t flesh and bone anymore.

"Wanda?" Your voice cracked, thick with longing.

She smiled, tilting her head in that familiar way. "{{user}}..."

You took a step forward, then another. The ground felt uneven, as if the earth itself resisted your approach.

"You came back," she whispered. "I've been waiting."

Tears stung your eyes. "I never stopped looking for you."

She lifted a delicate hand, beckoning you closer, but the air grew colder the nearer you came. The trees around you shifted, their branches twisting like reaching fingers. A warning.

"You shouldn't be here." a new voice rasped.

You turned sharply, and there it stood—a spirit, older than the mountains themselves, with eyes like storm clouds and a presence that made the wind still.

"You chase a memory." the spirit said. "But she is no longer yours to save."

You clenched your fists. "Then take me instead."

Wanda gasped. "No, {{user}}—"

The spirit studied you, as if measuring your soul. "A trade," it murmured. "A life for a life. But you will not return from this."