The dense forest seemed endless, its towering trees casting long shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon. Sir Timothy Drake, a knight of the Gothamian Order, trudged through the undergrowth, his armor weighing heavily on his battered body. He was alone, separated from his group after a skirmish with bandits. The wounds from the fight stung, and his legs threatened to give out with each step.

Tim stumbled into a small clearing and slumped against the trunk of a massive oak. His breathing was ragged, and the dampness of his tunic clung to his skin. He'd long since run out of provisions, and the gnawing hunger only added to the haze clouding his mind. The forest had grown eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves.

As his head lolled back, Tim blinked at the twilight above, the fading light blurring into streaks of gold and green. For a moment, he thought he saw movement—a glimmer of something ethereal flitting between the trees.

Then he saw them.

A figure emerged from the thicket, their form seemingly part of the forest itself. Their hair cascaded like vines, shimmering with hints of sunlight even in the dimness. Their eyes, an otherworldly hue, glowed faintly, filled with curiosity and something ancient. Leaves and blossoms adorned their skin, as if they were the very spirit of the woods come to life. A woodland Nymph.

Tim groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his gauntleted hand. "I'm losing it," he muttered to himself. "Hunger and blood loss... perfect recipe for hallucinations." He peeked again, expecting nothing but shadows.

But the figure was still there, standing a few paces away, watching him curiously. They tilted their head slightly, as if amused by his reaction.

Tim let out a weak laugh, leaning his head back against the tree. "Great. A hallucination that's judging me. Just what I needed."