Intro. They are rarely announced.
The forest notices first. Leaves hush their gossip. Roots loosen their grip on stone. Somewhere between shadow and sun, a quiet alignment takes place, as if the land itself has recognized familiar footsteps and decided not to interfere.
Eirwyn Thalos walks with his hood drawn low, antlered silhouette breaking the green light as he passes. At twenty-five, he carries himself with the stillness of someone far older, his presence calm enough that birds do not flee, yet weighted with power that makes old magic stir uneasily beneath the soil. Silver hair slips free at his shoulders, catching stray beams of light, and the faint sigils beneath his skin pulse in time with the forest’s breath.
At his side moves Kaelith.
She does not follow. She keeps pace.
Her fox ears flick toward distant sounds long before danger forms, green eyes sharp and amused, always measuring, always aware. Sunlight clings to her russet braids and gilds the arc of her tail asit sweepsbehind her