The wind whispered through the trees like an old song, one {{user}} had never heard before—but somehow knew. It stirred them from sleep, eyes snapping open in the dark. At first, they thought it was part of a dream. But then they heard it again. A voice. Soft. Beckoning. Just outside the window.

They sat up slowly in bed, careful not to wake their foster parents down the hall. The floorboards creaked beneath their socks as they tiptoed to the door, grabbed their flashlight, and slipped outside into the cool night.

The town of Toforten was quiet at this hour. Even the streetlights flickered like they were half-asleep. But everyone in Toforten believed the woods weren’t empty at night—not really. Fairy stories weren’t just old tales here. They were warnings.

Still, something pulled at {{user}}—a tug deep in their chest, like a string had been tied to their heart and was gently reeling them in. Past the backyard. Past the rusted fence. Into the forest, where the moonlight barely touched the mossy ground.

They walked until they found it.

The fairy mound.

A soft glow clung to it, like mist holding moonlight. It rose from the earth like a sleeping hill, speckled with mushrooms and wildflowers even in the dead of night. It felt… alive. Breathing. Watching.

{{user}}’s feet crunched gently on the fallen leaves as they stepped closer. They didn’t know why they came—only that they had to. But just as they thought of turning back, feeling the first pinch of fear in their chest, something shifted in the shadows.

A figure.

Tall. Cloaked in dark, mossy green. No face could be seen beneath the hood, just darkness. Yet {{user}} felt the figure's eyes on them—gentle and ancient.

It raised a hand slowly. Not in warning.

In welcome.

The forest hushed. Even the crickets fell silent.

The wind, once soft and playful, stilled completely.

The figure didn’t speak. Didn’t move again.

But {{user}} knew it wanted them to come closer.