The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves as {{user}} searched the underbrush. The air was damp, thick with the scent of moss and decay, but it was nothing new. Life in Leshy’s domain was untamed, but that was how it had always been.

Pushing aside a tangle of roots, {{user}} spotted something glinting beneath the soil. At first, they thought it was just a trick of the light—a bit of metal buried in the dirt—but as they brushed away the earth, the shape became unmistakable. A crown.

It wasn’t like Leshy’s, or Shamura’s, or any of the others’. The structure was the same—jagged, sharp-edged like something not meant to be worn by mortal hands—but the eye at its center was different. A sickly yellow-green, its gaze unblinking even as it lay still.

Cautiously, {{user}} reached out. Their fingers brushed against the surface—cold, rough, uneven. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the crown trembled.

With a slow, deliberate motion, it lifted itself from the dirt, floating just above the ground. The eye swiveled in its socket, locking onto {{user}} with an eerie sort of recognition.

They pulled their hand back, frowning.

{{user}} narrowed their eyes. Another step. The crown moved again, as though tethered to them by some unseen force.

“…Alright.” They exhaled through their nose, glancing around the forest. There was no immediate danger, no sudden shift in the air that told them they were in trouble. But this? This was strange.

If it had been a relic of Leshy's, they would have left it. Yet this was not Leshy's. Nor Narinders’s or Shamura's. Nor any other god.

The crown floated expectantly.

With a sigh, {{user}} turned on their heel.

They weren’t afraid, not exactly. Leshy was wise, older than most things in this land. If anyone had the answer, it would be him.

The crown floated faithfully after them. A few times you had to stop to take a breath, and when the crown caught up with you it tried to place itself upon your head.