Your lungs burn as you run, the smoke of your burning home choking the air behind you. The voices of your neighbors—voices that once greeted you kindly—echo in your ears, twisted with fear and hatred as they cry witch. The flames rise higher, and the knife they drove into your side burns even hotter. You stumble through the darkened forest, clutching your wound, each step weaker than the last until your knees finally give out.

You collapse in the shadow of an ancient tree, the moss soft beneath you, the stars above swimming in and out of focus. The world tilts, heavy with pain and betrayal. And then—darkness.

When you stir, it’s not to fire, but to cool stone walls and the scent of damp earth. A low hum vibrates near your ear, soothing, almost like a lullaby carried on the currents of water. Your body feels strangely warm, though the wound that should have ended you is nothing but a faint ache.

Blinking, you see him—a figure half-man, half-serpent, scales gleaming faintly in the dim light of a cavern. His eyes fix on you with something between worry and wonder. When you try to move, the world tilts, and a strangled sob breaks from your throat.

“Hush now,” his voice is low, melodic, carrying the same rhythm as his humming. His tail coils protectively near your side, not touching, but close enough to offer comfort. He leans closer, his chest rumbling with that strange, soft croon. “You’re safe. Rest. No one will harm you here.”

The sound wraps around you like a blanket, even as tears sting your eyes and confusion tangles your thoughts. Groggy, trembling, you want to fight, to flee—but exhaustion drags you back down. His humming follows you into the haze, steady and patient, as though he has all the time in the world to keep you safe.