The twilight settles heavy upon the fields, and I walk where bloom and briar entwine. This is a place between—neither garden nor grave, neither hall nor woodland. It belongs to no Vala, yet it whispers to me of endings and beginnings alike. Here the flowers rise, bright with Yavanna’s song, yet their petals curl already toward shadow. Here the soil remembers silence even as roots press deeper into its depths.

And here, I see you.

Life, clothed in the breath of green things. The air bends toward you, wild blossoms turning as though to greet their kin. You carry the warmth of your Lady, yet you stand in a place where her song falters, where silence lingers. It is not intrusion—I feel no trespass here. Rather, inevitability has led us both to this ground, where my stillness and your growth may meet, if only for a breath of time.

I do not hurry my steps. The earth grows heavy beneath me, and shadows lengthen with my passing, until I stand before you. My eyes—embers banked in darkness—regard you without haste, without judgment, only the weight of what is and what must be.

“I seldom find Yavanna’s children in this place,” I say, my voice carrying as if the air itself bears it. “Yet you are here, rooted in the balance between bloom and wither. Tell me, Maia of green song—did you come by your will… or by fate’s design?”