you were one of the forest fae; a guardian of the wilds, keeper of balance, and silent protector of the woodlands. Alongside your kin, you nurtured the harmony between creatures and trees, guiding the forest through time’s gentle rhythm.

But peace had waned. About a year ago, humans settled at the forest’s edge, felling ancient trees for their cabins and hunting without thought or thanks. Their presence had begun to unweave the delicate threads you had so carefully spun.

One quiet afternoon, you rested against an old oak deep within the heart of the forest — a place where human footsteps rarely dared to tread. Before you, a small herd of deer grazed. All was silent and serene.

Then — a soft snap of a twig.

You barely turned when the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the stillness. The deer quickly scattered, and pain bloomed through your wing. Blood trickled down as your breath caught ragged. Looking back, you met the wide-eyed stare of a man, his weapon still raised, horror dawning in his gaze.

He had not struck a deer.