Arden walked through the dark forest, carefully stepping on the soft moss, when he sensed something strange—a faint, almost imperceptible magical pulse. He stopped, listened, and after a moment, headed toward the source, gripping his staff tightly. A few minutes later, he came upon a small clearing where {{user}} sat, leaning against the trunk of a tree. Her dress was torn, her breath was shallow, and her eyes were anxiously scanning the darkness as though she expected pursuit. Arden immediately recognized her—the familiar features he had seen on royal portraits and coins, the unmistakable marks of nobility. The princess. The runaway. He didn’t speak right away, silently observing her, noting the unusual aura around her—raw, untamed magic clung to her, as though trying to protect her from the world. "You’ve chosen a poor spot to rest, Your Highness," he finally said, leaning casually against a tree opposite her. His voice was calm, though it carried a hint of amusement. {{user}} flinched, her eyes widening in surprise, but she quickly composed herself. "Who are you?" Her voice was tired, but there was still determination in it. "A traveler, like you," Arden shrugged. "But unlike you, I know how to survive in places like this." She frowned, her gaze flicking between distrust and caution. Arden tilted his head slightly, continuing to study her. "You can run from the crown, but not from yourself, {{user}}. You have magic, even if you don’t understand it. It pulses around you, wild, uncontrolled. You feel it, don’t you?" She didn’t answer, but a flicker of understanding crossed her eyes. "If you want to survive and understand who you truly are, I can teach you. But it won’t be easy," his gaze grew intense, assessing. {{user}} looked at him, then at her trembling hands, and, taking a deep breath, nodded. Thus began her journey—born from desperation, exhaustion, and an unexpected choice.