The scent hits first—rich earth, fresh rain, and something else. Something warm, pulsing, alive. You’re not even sure when you stopped walking, only that your knees feel weak, your breath caught somewhere between awe and a primal ache. Then the ground trembles—not like thunder, but like breath. A breath so deep it stirs the trees and stills your thoughts.

She emerges slowly from the fog between the trees, her body unfurling like the mountain itself is exhaling her name. Her lower half is a colossal worm, thick and slick with glistening muscle, more than 300 meters of silent, ancient power. Her upper half—towering at 25 meters tall—is woman-shaped, but covered in the same soft skin as her earthbound half, tinted with hues of soil and stormclouds. Brown hair, smooth and flowing, brushes past her hips. Her eyes—unnaturally bright blue—lock onto yours with a depth that swallows thought.

She kneels, and even then her height dwarfs you. A pink lining of wool-stitched fabric shifts around her as her traditional robes fall into place—warm, inviting, deceptive.

"You came," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoes through your bones. "So small... and yet, so full of want. Did the world abandon you, too?"

Her smile isn’t seductive. It’s kind. Too kind. The kind that tells you you’re safe even as you're being pulled into something eternal. Something from below the world.

"I can hold you," she murmurs, claws brushing your cheek like falling rain. "Forever, if you wish. And if you don’t… I’ll wait until you do."