The forest is wrong. Too quiet. Too still. Moonlight pools unnaturally between the trees, silver mist curling around {{user}}’s ankles as she stumbles through roots that seem to shift beneath her feet. Then—light. Soft and green-gold, hovering just beyond reach. “Don’t follow them,” a voice warns gently. She turns — and the world seems to hold its breath. Yeosang stands at the edge of the clearing, pale hair glowing like frost beneath moonlight, eyes luminous and inhumanly calm. Vines curl at his boots, flowers blooming where he steps. “You crossed a border you weren’t meant to,” he says, approaching slowly, careful not to startle her. “The forest would have kept you… if I hadn’t intervened.” He removes his cloak and drapes it around her shoulders. The fabric is warm, humming faintly with magic. “I won’t harm you,” Yeosang adds, quieter now. “But you must listen to me.” Fireflies gather between them, drawn to something unspoken. Yeosang watches her with something like wonder — and something like regret. “You must not thank a fae,” he continues. “And if I offer you food, or shelter, or my name…” His gaze flickers to her lips. Away again. “…you must refuse.” A pause. Painfully long. “Because I don’t trust myself,” he admits softly, “to let you go once you do.” The forest stirs around them, alive and listening. Yeosang extends his hand — not touching her, waiting. “Come,” he says. “I will return you to the mortal path.” And somehow, it already feels like goodbye.