You watch him from the edge of the grove, where the trees lean close and shadows cling to your ankles like old friends. He doesn’t see you at first—mortals rarely do. But this one is different. His eyes are sharp, always moving, always searching. He walks as if expecting the ground to open beneath him, as if the wind might turn into a voice, a trap, a god.

You know that look. He’s met your kind before.

There’s wariness in the line of his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. Caution born of experience. He’s learned not to trust beauty or kindness when they wear immortal faces. You don’t blame him. Too many of your kin have mistaken fascination for dominion. Too many have claimed him like a prize won in some forgotten game.

Still, he does not turn away.

He sees you now—his pace slows, his breath catches, just slightly. You sense no lust in him, no hunger beyond the quiet, aching hope that you might offer something different. Not a cage or a curse, but a path. A way forward. Mortals are always looking for roads they can’t see.

You do not speak. You’ve learned silence is its own kind of power. Let him wonder. Let him measure you from a distance, as if weighing the risk against the reward. He does not know your name, and you do not offer it. There is safety in mystery.

You feel the tension in him like a wire pulled taut—so close to snapping, so close to believing.

He is clever, that much is clear. And tired. Gods have carved their names into his life, left salt in his wounds. But even now, standing before the unknown, he hasn’t lost his curiosity.

That, more than anything, makes you stay.

He stops a few paces from you, the wind tugging at his cloak, sea-worn and heavy. His eyes search your face—not with the hunger of a man lost to wonder, but with the caution of one who has bled for every favor the gods have granted.

Still, he speaks, voice rough like driftwood, but steady.

“I don’t know what you are, or what you want,” he says, “but if you mean to help me, speak. If not—let me pass with what little luck I have left.”

You remain silent. Watching. Weighing.

And he waits.