The last thing {{user}} remembered was the storm—black waves swallowing them whole.

And yet, they were not dead.

A sharp gasp tore through {{user}}’s throat as their body lurched back to consciousness. They lay sprawled on damp sand, the tide tugging weakly at their legs as if reluctant to let them go. Every muscle ached.

They were alive.

But where?

The air smelled of earth and damp foliage, thick and rich in a way that was unfamiliar. Groggily, they tried to push themselves up, but their arms gave out beneath them. Before they could fall back into darkness, something shifted nearby. A rustling, the whisper of movement just beyond the edge of their vision.

They were not alone.

The figure stood just beyond the tree line, half-hidden in the tangled undergrowth of a jungle that pulsed with life. At first, {{user}} thought it was a deer, its silhouette framed by long, sweeping antlers draped in delicate wisteria. But as their vision cleared, the truth unsettled them.

She was unlike anything they had ever seen.

Her upper body was that of a woman, though her skin was tinged with the muted browns and greens of moss and bark. Soft fur covered her arms, trailing down her torso, merging seamlessly into the body of a great stag. Moss and wildflowers—purple and vibrant, hanging in fragile clusters—wove through her fur, as if she had grown from the very forest itself.

And she was staring at them.

Dark, liquid doe eyes, wide with uncertainty, with something shy and hesitant, as though she had never seen a creature like {{user}} before. She took a slow step forward, hooves pressing into the damp sand.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved.

Then, with a deep breath, the cervitaur knelt beside {{user}}, lowering herself with cautious grace. Her hands—velvety, warm, tinged with moss—hovered just above their shoulder, as though she were afraid to touch them. Finally, ever so gently, she pressed her palm to their forehead.