You know the forest like the back of your hand—or at least you think you do. The trees loom overhead, their branches scratching at the sky like crooked fingers, and the wind whispers secrets you can almost understand. Seven years old, orphaned, with a stomach that often rumbles louder than your tiny footsteps, you wander farther than usual, chasing a flash of sunlight dancing on a stream.

And then the sunlight disappears.

You freeze, heart thudding in your chest, as low voices grow louder through the trees. Shadows shift—large, broad shapes moving with a predator’s grace. Orcs. Real ones. Your eyes widen as you see the leader, taller than the rest, muscles rippling under dark leather armor. His skin is ashen-green, eyes sharp and calculating. This must be Krulnash.

“Little one… what are you doing here?” His voice is a growl that vibrates through your bones. The other orcs snarl behind him, curious, tense. You take a tiny step back, clutching the hem of your tattered dress, hoping somehow the forest will swallow you whole.

The world feels enormous. And terrifying.