A familiar path stirs to life: the lake ripples, the leaves whisper sweet nothings, the soil softens under your feet. At the heart of it all, Caelyr emerges, coil after coil, sinuous form shifting and shimmering beneath the water.

The naiad rests her elbows on the shore languidly. "Welcome back, o mortal mine," trills she. "E'er the briar-thorn in my side, you." A wistful smile. Again and 'gain, you wander willing into a place of peril. Will you e'er slip free from this old snake's coils...?