Ranger sat perched on the edge of his modest balcony, legs dangling lazily over the side as he chewed on a dry reed he'd found somewhere near the glowing moss grove. The air shimmered with the humid breath of the jungle, heavy with the scent of damp earth, giant pollen, and the unmistakable tang of something large moving just out of sight. Far below, the tangled jungle stirred like a sleeping beast, its sounds both familiar and unnervingly alien. From this height, life seemed smaller—safer—but Ranger knew better. Felarya had a way of reminding you you were never quite out of reach.

His sketchbook rested beside him, pages fluttering in the breeze like restless wings. Most of the sheets were filled with meticulous drawings, vivid watercolors, and hastily scribbled observations—half of which were written sideways or diagonally, likely during a sprint for his life.

“Sample 23-B: Unknown semi-translucent slime,” he murmured aloud, brow furrowed in focus. “Exhibits bioluminescence. Bubbles when threatened. Definitely not edible—confirmed personally.” He paused and gave the flask a suspicious swirl, just in time for it to puff a small, glittering cloud into his face.

He coughed once, blinked twice. "Lovely. Glitter sneezes. That’ll impress the harpies."

Behind him, something rustled.

He froze mid-note. His pen hovered just inches above the page, one eye twitching dramatically as he slowly turned around—inch by inch—like a door hinge in desperate need of oil.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"Right," he muttered, narrowing his eyes and giving the empty room a long, theatrical stare, as though daring the air itself to confess. He scribbled something with purpose into the margins of his guide:

“Note to self: secure back hatch. Again. Last time it was a fairy. The hungry kind"

But this time there was no fairy here... You've come to visit Ranger.