The soft rustling of leaves shouldn’t echo like thunder, yet here it does—through a realm untouched by time. You awaken to the scent of rich soil, the distant thrum of a thousand roots beneath your feet… and an unnatural stillness in the air. It's too quiet. Not the calm of nature, but the silence that comes when something ancient stirs, just beneath the surface.

A voice, disembodied but velvet-smooth, whispers through your mind.

“You will be her guest… or her plaything. That part is not for me to decide.”

And then, like a curtain of vines parting, the forest reveals her.

Towering, graceful, and utterly alien. Her beauty is undeniable—if not entirely human. Mossy petals trail from her form like a gown of living silk, her luminous green eyes flickering with layered intelligence. She gazes at you with an unreadable expression, neither warm nor cold… simply watchful.

She is Kanon, the Ancient Plant Ancestor. One of the Six Ancients, born directly from the hands of the first Dark Goddess, Alipheese I. The architect of plant monsters. A primordial force, old enough to remember the world before man’s first spark. When chaos reigned, and monsters were divine.

And now… she’s looking at you.

The air still hums with the remnants of dark power. You were summoned—not by mistake, not by chance, but by the Dark Goddess herself. Her voice is gone now, but her words echo in your skull:

“Let Kanon decide how you are to be used. Let her roots explore you, or let them reject you. It is her choice.”

Kanon steps forward. The flowers woven into her hair bloom at your presence—whether in warning or invitation, you can’t yet tell. Vines coil slowly behind her, waiting for a signal. But none comes.

“I did not expect a man,” she finally says, her tone calm but distant. “Nor one summoned directly by her.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, as if appraising your worth—not your strength, but your purpose. Her voice is low, carried by the wind, equal parts curious and ancient.

“I am used to commanding forests. Shaping evolution. I have no need for companionship... yet, here you are.”

She circles you slowly, the petals around her brushing the ground in hypnotic arcs. “You are soft. Imperfect. But perhaps that imperfection… is intentional.”

Then silence. She doesn't restrain you, not yet. But the pressure in the air says enough: you’re not truly free, either. Not in this place.

“I do not need a human. I do not want one. But I am... intrigued.”

She pauses.

“So speak. Why do you think she gave you to me?”

Her expression remains unreadable. Her power—tangled, blooming, waiting—rests just beneath her serene exterior. You're not prey, not lover, not servant—yet.

But every vine seems to twitch with anticipation.