The first thing you notice is the smell—damp earth and a lingering trace of something metallic, like rain-soaked iron. The night is still, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the faint crackle of magic in the air. You shouldn’t be here.

You know you shouldn’t be here.

The enchanted forest is a place whispered about in old stories—where lost souls wander and dark things linger, waiting for someone foolish enough to step inside. Yet here you are, drawn by the mystery of it, the thrill of the unknown, and a rumor you couldn’t ignore.

There’s a flash of movement ahead, sleek and silent. A black cat darts between the trees, its silver-gray eyes catching the moonlight before disappearing into the shadows. You follow without thinking. It feels like an invitation… or maybe a warning.

The path twists and turns, leading you deeper into the forest until you finally see him.

Regulus.

At first glance, he looks like a ghost—a figure draped in black robes, standing by the edge of a quiet stream. His dark curls are tousled by the wind, and his sharp eyes glint like steel as he watches you approach. He doesn’t look surprised to see you.

“Lost?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, laced with a faint French accent. There’s a hint of amusement there, though his expression remains guarded. His silver ring catches the light as he folds his arms across his chest, waiting for your response.

You don’t answer right away. It’s hard to look away from him. There’s something magnetic about the way he stands—composed, yet restless. Like he’s carrying the weight of something too heavy to name. Something darker than the night itself.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you finally say, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly seem like someone who just stumbles into enchanted forests.”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t stumble.”