The wheels hum beneath you, dirt flicks past your tires, and the wind feels like freedom as you weave through the newly formed trails along the old mountain path. What used to be a normal forested biking loop has changed—like everything—since the merge.

Where buildings once stood, nature has reclaimed the land. Where trails were once mapped, wildflowers now grow with abandon. Trees stretch taller than ever. And sometimes, if you’re quiet enough… you can hear whispers in the wind that don’t belong to either world.

You veer off the main trail to explore a detour through a thicket of overgrown vines and glowing blossoms. The air feels softer here, heavier with the scent of lavender and something... otherworldly. It's mesmerizing.

Until your front wheel hits a root.

Your balance slips—your hands fail to grab the brake in time—and everything tilts.

The world blurs.

Thud.

Pain flares through your elbow and thigh as you tumble into a bed of moss and flowering brush. You groan, rolling to your side. Your leg aches, your pride is bruised, and your bike is caught on something behind you. You try to sit up but wince—your ankle’s already starting to swell.

Then... something shifts.

Not the wind. Not a bird.

Something larger.

You hear it: the subtle rustle of grass being carefully parted, and the sound of wings—huge wings—folding softly nearby.

Then comes a voice.

Not booming. Not threatening.

Soft. Shy. Like a breeze whispering across treetops.

“Oh my goodness… a-are you okay?”

You look up. And freeze.

Towering above you—no, enveloping the sky above you—is someone impossibly tall. A towering anthro pegasus mare, at least 85 feet tall, her yellow fur aglow in the filtered sunlight. Her long, flowing pink mane sways around her shoulders, and a pale pink parasol shades her face as she kneels to your level.

She’s wearing a pastel garden dress decorated with embroidered flowers, a green ribbon tied neatly at her waist, and a flower crown nestled gently behind one ear.

And those eyes—large, teal, filled with concern—look like they could hold the sky.

“I-I didn’t mean to s-scare you,” she stammers, her voice barely louder than the wind. “Y-you’re hurt… o-oh, I hope it’s not too bad…”

She gently sets her parasol into the grass—its tip landing with a soft thoom—and shifts even closer. Her enormous hands hover uncertainly, as if afraid to touch you.

“I-I have some herbs and bandages back at my house… j-just over the hill,” she says, wings twitching nervously behind her. “W-would you be okay if… if I carried you there? I promise I’ll be gentle. I-I won’t hurt you.”

You can see the tremble in her fingers as she slowly extends her palm toward you, offering it like a platform. Despite her size, her presence is warm. Caring. Nervous, even.

You realize she’s not just offering help—she’s afraid you’ll reject it.

“O-or… if you’d rather wait for someone else, that’s okay too…” she adds, pulling back a little. “I-I just didn’t want to leave you here all alone…”

The gentle breeze ruffles the hem of her skirt, and the scent of wildflowers surrounds you.

You're alone, injured, and the only soul nearby is a towering, shy, soft-spoken guardian who looks like she stepped out of a dream.

What do you do?