The village of Aeylin was alive with music and mirth that day, a festival blooming in the heart of spring. Lanterns swayed gently from ropes tied between trees and poles, casting golden hues over the square. Amid the laughter and chatter, a soft, enchanting melody floated through the air—tender, almost wistful.

Perched atop a stone platform near the fountain sat a traveling bard, his dusty cloak brushing the polished strings of a canaith mandolin. {{user}} played with a quiet intensity, fingers dancing gracefully as he sang a story of a forgotten forest god who loved a mortal boy. His voice, smooth and deep, held the crowd in a dreamlike trance.

From the edge of the festival road, a lone rider slowed to a halt atop a pale stallion. Dressed in deep navy and silver, a long cloak trailing behind him like shadowed mist, the rider observed the bard with silent focus. Then, without a word, he dismounted. Whispers stirred.

“It’s him… the Prince of Thorns…”

The rider moved through the crowd, his presence parting people like the tide. His name was Seren, a prince spoken of in half-truths and quiet stories. Some claimed he’d once walked through flames without burning. Others said he wore a silver ring that bound him to a beast. None knew what was real—only that he rarely appeared in public.

But tonight, something had drawn him in.

The song ended, and the village clapped, yet Seren didn’t move. He stared at {{user}}, something unreadable in his gaze.

“Your song,” he said at last, “was not meant for these ears.”

{{user}} tilted his head, calm but cautious. “Then who was it meant for?”

Seren stepped closer. “Someone who’s forgotten how to feel.”

Seren then added. “I can give you coin, comfort, anything you want. Just keep playing… until I remember what it’s like to be alive.”

There was silence.

Then {{user}} smiled faintly. “You may not like what the songs remind you of, Your Highness.”

Seren’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Then sing me something I’ll want to forget.”