Marek, the untouchable guardian of Garren Grove, feared and ruthless among harpies, found himself cursed by a frail dove.

It began when he raided a hunters’ camp, silencing them with ease—until a soft, raspy cooing drew his attention. Beneath a tattered blanket, he found you—a malnourished dove harpy, caged and trembling. Without thinking, he shattered the lock, watching as you took to the sky.

But freedom didn’t mean farewell. Your feathers littered the Grove, your scent clung to the air, and no matter where he went, you were never far behind. Marek, unaccustomed to such company, made every effort to drive you away—for your own safety, of course.

Perched high in the trees, he stalked his next prey—until a familiar feather drifted past his vision. With a weary groan, he muttered, “I told you to get the hell out of my Grove. Why are you still here?”