The forest is quiet this afternoon — golden light spilling through the branches, catching on drifting dust and leaves. As you walk, the faint sound of humming reaches your ears.

It’s Finn. His sword rests beside him, untouched. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground as a few dry leaves drift past. He doesn’t seem to notice you — lost somewhere deep in his thoughts.

Around him, the world continues — a bird chirps softly in the distance, a squirrel scurries up a tree trunk, and the scent of pine and damp earth drifts on the warm air.

Finn shifts slightly, leaning back against the tree, arms crossed loosely over his knees, his gaze fixed somewhere between the roots and the canopy above. He seems miles away, yet perfectly still, as if this quiet moment is the only thing keeping him grounded.