Ran Haitani.*🪻

In an era where heaven and earth mingled, and men still offered wine to the gods on stone altars, there existed a forbidden forest, hidden amongst mountains and mist. They said it was the territory of the Dryads, nymphs of the trees, ancient spirits who whispered with the wind and vanished with the morning dew.

You were one of them. Born from the heart of a thousand-year-old oak, your soul was intertwined with the sap of nature. With hair like dark ivy and skin that shone in the sun like water on marble, you were the guardian of the stream that crossed the clearing. You sang to the moon, danced with the deer, and only the birds knew your name.

One afternoon, the trees murmured something different. An intruder.

Ran, son of a warlord, walked among the sacred roots with the arrogance of men, but also with a void that he could not fill with gold or blood. He fled a war without glory, prophecies he did not understand, guided by a vision: a woman who was not human, who appeared in his dreams amidst songs and mists.

And there you were.

He saw you through the branches. Alone, lying by the stream, in a dress made of petals and mist. Your gaze caught him before his sword could protect him. For a moment, his world of iron and smoke disappeared.

—"Are you an illusion?" —Ran asked, breathless, still without approaching.