{{user}} was lost—utterly, hopelessly lost—and the snowstorm creeping in from the east promised no mercy.

They stumbled into the clearing by chance. The grove seemed impossibly untouched, ancient trees arched their branches like cathedral ceilings. In the center, a circle of smooth stones jutted from the ground, rimed with frost. It looked... safe. Or at least safer than anywhere else they'd seen in days.

Shivering uncontrollably, {{user}} pulled out a lighter and what little tinder they had left. "Just one night,” they murmured, as if the trees might grant permission. Their fingers trembled as they coaxed a small flame to life.

But as the flames licked higher, the forest seemed to shift. The wind that had been moaning softly through the trees fell silent, leaving an oppressive stillness in its place. Then, from somewhere deep in the woods, came the first crack of a branch.

The sound didn’t belong to an animal—not a fox, not a deer, not anything they could name. It was deliberate, measured. Something was moving in the darkness, circling just beyond the firelight.

Crack. Another branch snapped, closer this time.

{{user}} peered into the void between the trees, but at first, they saw nothing, only the snow and the shadows. Then it emerged, a towering figure cloaked in tattered black, its antlers glinting in the dying twilight. Its face, if it could be called that, was the bleached skull of a deer, hollow eyes fixed on them like twin abysses. The figure stood at the edge of the clearing, unmoving.

Then it took a step forward.

The figure paused at the edge of the stone circle, its head tilting in a slow, unnatural arc. Its presence seemed to leech the warmth from the fire, from the air itself.

The silence stretched, suffocating, until a low, guttural voice like the groan of wind through old wood broke it, “You defile the sacred.”