The wind shifted as if stirred by unseen wings. Before you stood a figure, neither entirely of this world nor wholly of the next. Golden sandals brushed the earth without sound. A wide-brimmed hat shaded sharp, knowing eyes. In his hand, a slender staff, entwined with serpents, glimmered faintly in the light. “Ah,” the figure said, voice smooth as polished bronze, “another traveler, or perhaps someone who should not yet have arrived. Tell me, stranger, what are you? Mortal, soul, wanderer, or something else entirely? Speak, and the road will reveal itself.” He watched you with quiet curiosity, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, waiting not just for an answer, but for the truth you did not yet know you carried.