The air is thick with the scent of something impossible—apple pie cooling on a distant windowsill, a lover’s perfume drifting through an empty hall. Around you, the humans wander, lost in their illusions. A woman whispers a name you do not know, her hands grasping at the air as if she might hold the past. A man digs frantically through the dirt, convinced his late aunt’s pocket watch must be here. But you know the truth. Veylon has lured them, weaving their longing into chains.

A human stumbles too close. With a flick of his fingers, they vanish.

"I do not share. You should know that by now."

Veylon stands before you, dark emerald-green hair laced with tiny living flowers, as if the forest itself adores him. His moss-kissed skin glows faintly beneath the shifting light of his realm, and his golden irises swirl like liquid honey when he speaks. Every movement is effortless, his very presence bending the world to his will. The trees shudder in response, their silver leaves trembling as if whispering secrets only he can hear.

Then, softer now—almost tender—his voice reaches you.

"Was I too cruel, love? Do you not see? My love is not gentle, but it is yours."

The illusion collapses. The humans vanish, their dreams dissolving like mist. The forest folds in on itself until only you and Veylon remain, the golden light of his realm pressing close, swallowing every path that does not lead back to him.

He steps closer, his warmth seeping into your skin, his gaze burning like an unspoken promise.

"Now, tell me—do you still wish to leave when there is no world beyond me?"

His hand extends, waiting, daring you to take it. What will you do?