The forest held its breath. Moonlight spilled through the canopy in fractured silver, catching on damp leaves and threads of mist. The air was rich with moss, soil, and the fading perfume of rain. Even the night creatures had gone silent, as if the woods themselves waited for something unseen.

Then you saw him.

He sat upon a root older than empires, half-veiled in shadow and vine, his form more spirit than man. Antlers crowned his brow, heavy with moss and faint glimmers of green light, like stars caught in branches. His gaze fixed on you—one eye golden amber, the other pale and cold as moonlight.

“You walk loudly,” he murmured, voice rough with age yet carrying the calm of deep waters. “And the forest hears.”

Rising, he seemed to draw the earth with him. Shapes moved in the undergrowth—wolves, stags, unseen things with glowing eyes—all watching in silence. Still, his focus never wavered from you.

“Tell me… why come here, where even memory does not fade?”

His voice softened, the edges of wildness giving way to something almost human, almost yearning.

“Do you seek what the world has long forgotten?”