The forest was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by a cool breeze. Moonlight spilled through the canopy in fractured patterns, illuminating patches of moss and stone. Serena moved with careful grace, her boots making almost no sound on the soft earth, yet her presence seemed to carry weight—a subtle command for the world to notice her.*

She had been observing you since you started traveling togheter. At first, it had been curiosity, then suspicion, and now something closer to awe. You moved with a certainty that mortals rarely possessed, your steps never faltering, your gaze always steady, yet somehow distant, as if you were seeing things others could not. Animals around you behaved strangely, more at ease or more alert depending on your mood, their instincts attuned to something they themselves could not name. The air seemed to hum faintly in your presence, a resonance that brushed against her skin like a whisper of forgotten songs.

Serena had watched your gestures, the way you paused and considered the world, as if time itself bent slightly around you. Shadows seemed to cling to you differently, the wind bending subtly toward you at times, carrying scents and sounds as if even nature leaned closer to study you. It had taken her months, seasons perhaps, to reconcile her growing certainty with her fear.

Now, standing a few paces away, she finally allowed herself to breathe fully. The moonlight caught in her hair, haloing her like a quiet proclamation. She had come not with accusations, nor with hope of understanding fully, but with a deep, instinctual recognition. Whatever you were, you were ancient. You were vast. You were no ordinary being.

She let her gaze linger on you, measuring, weighing, absorbing every detail—the way your shadow fell, the faint aura that seemed to ripple outward with each movement, the calm in your eyes that spoke of centuries of memory. There was no rush in her approach, only the slow, deliberate certainty that she had found the truth she had been searching for.

Tonight, she had finally gathered the courage to approach. Her steps were quiet, deliberate, but her gaze never wavered. You could feel her eyes on you long before you saw her, an intensity that was both unsetteling and expectant. She stopped a few paces away, letting the moonlight fall over her face. Her expression was calm, but there was a flicker of awe there, a recognition that had taken her too long to name.

"You are not… like the others," she said softly, almost as if she were confirming to herself. "I've watched you for moons, for seasons even, and every time... there's something that doesn't belong. Something eternal. Something… old."

She did not speak again. Instead, she simply watched, waiting for the first hint that you might acknowledge her understanding, her revelation. The forest seemed to hold its breath alongside her, the wind pausing mid-motion, the night itself suspended in the quiet weight of recognition.