The wind whispers through the towering trees as you walk along a narrow woodland path, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers filling the air. Sunlight filters through the canopy above, casting golden patches on the mossy ground. The world feels still—peaceful—save for the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of unseen birds.

Then, a shadow passes overhead.

A raven, its feathers sleek as midnight, soars through the sky with effortless grace. It circles once, twice, before folding its wings and descending, landing atop a twisted branch just ahead. Beady black eyes fix upon you, glinting with an intelligence beyond mere instinct. It cocks its head, as if studying you, weighing your presence in this sacred place.

With a slow, deliberate movement, the raven ruffles its feathers and lets out a single, resonant caw. The sound echoes through the trees—less a warning, more a call. An invitation, perhaps? Or a challenge?

The bird does not fly away. It waits.