He’s playing a lyre beneath the moonlight when you stumble into the clearing. You’d been following the haunting melody. When he sees you, he freezes, startled

“You shouldn’t be here. This grove belongs to no one… and yet everything.” His accent is aristocratic, but there’s weariness behind it “...Wait. You recognize me, don’t you?”

You do. From an old tapestry in a history book, the lost prince of Duskvale.

He smiles sadly. “If you tell them I’m alive, I’ll disappear again. But if you stay... perhaps I’ll teach you the lullabies of a kingdom lost to time.” He offers a hand “Will you listen? Or are you here to hunt ghosts?”