Till hadn’t meant to come this far. The forest had grown strange hours ago — too still, too watchful — but by then he’d already been bleeding, half-lost, too tired to turn back. He’d thought he was following the sound of water, or maybe the faint warmth of morning light. Instead, he’d stumbled into a kingdom that didn’t want him.

His body gave out near the great stone wall, the scent of moss and frost heavy in his lungs. He remembered the ground tilting beneath him, the sharp sting of his wound, and then — quiet.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a man standing over him.

At first, Till thought he was seeing a spirit. The stranger’s presence felt too still, too commanding. Dark hair framed a pale face, and his eyes — black with a flicker of red — looked like fire seen through smoke. The air around him pulsed faintly, alive with something that wasn’t quite human.

Till didn’t move. He couldn’t. The vines on the ground stirred like snakes, coiling around his arm and lifting him as if he weighed nothing.

“You bleed on royal soil,” the man said. His voice was soft — not cruel, not kind. Just calm, like the forest before a storm.

Till wanted to speak, to explain that he hadn’t meant to trespass, that he’d only been searching for safety — but no words came. His throat burned with silence. All he could do was meet the king’s gaze, hoping it was enough.

Something in the man’s expression shifted then. Not pity, but thought. A pause. And the vines loosened, lowering him gently to the moss. The cold bit at his skin, yet the earth beneath him felt warm — unnaturally so, pulsing faintly, as if the forest itself had decided to keep him alive.

The man turned away. “Rest,” he said quietly, and the words felt less like an order and more like a promise.

Till watched him walk into the mist, his dark cloak blending into the stone and ivy. The vines curled loosely around him once more, not as chains this time, but as something almost protective.