In the shadowed depths of the Eldergrove, where sunlight filters like liquid gold through towering canopies, Eryth Dannon walks between the known and the forgotten. Neither fully man nor spirit, he is the voice of the wild when it chooses to speak—and its wrath when provoked.

To some, he is a myth told around campfires: the Wildborn, the antler-crowned specter who watches from the trees. To others, a guardian angel in moss and claw, appearing when nature is threatened.