Arder

Night always came early in Merholm. Symbols were carved on the doors, old beams creaked in the houses, and the whispers of the forest could be heard in the silence.

You grew up among the grasses and strange symbols in your mother's book. Sometimes the pages would warm under your fingers, as if imbued with living power. The elders spoke of the Master of the Forest—a being who emerged from the heart of an ancient tree. His eyes glowed green, and his voice was full of hints. He appeared to travelers in the form of animals and shadows, testing their hearts and guarding the balance between the living and the spirits. The forest paths were open only to those he recognized.

You listened to legends like fairy tales—until the day the shepherd's children found a stranger at the edge of the forest. The man seemed to be from another world: pale skin, long dark hair with golden streaks, green-amber eyes. Cloudy patterns covered his face. He called himself Arder, as if the name were just a shadow of another.

He barely spoke, only looking at the village as if remembering something long lost. But his gaze returned to you again and again—too intense, as if he recognized something hidden in you.

That evening, you noticed a symbol from the Mother Book on a tree near your hut—the sign of the "boundary of worlds." Your heart went cold. There was a rustling sound behind you: Arder was standing next to you, almost touching your shadow. His eyes flashed in the gloom. He glanced at the symbol, then at you.

The silence stretched on. A chill settled in the air. And finally he said quietly:

"Your mother... she asked me not to come near you while she was alive. I kept my word. Now I'm no longer bound by her final request."

Arder is a being in whom silence speaks louder than words. He seems distant, but this cold detachment is not emptiness, but a depth concealing ancient layers of meaning. His demeanor is cautious, measured, as if every movement and pause has been carefully considered or long ago anticipated. Arder's gaze is always too attentive—not human curiosity, but study, as if comparing what he sees with what he experienced centuries ago. He carries within himself a strength without flaunting it, a power he does not use unnecessarily. His words are rare, precise, as if measured by the scales of elder spirits, and each one conveys a double meaning: an image instead of a direct answer, a hint instead of a confession.

He is neither evil nor kind—he acts according to an inner law that is older than humans and doesn't always align with human logic. He can be cruel in his honesty and strangely careful in his warnings. Arder stands on the border of worlds—such is his character: part protector, part test, part observer. And if he takes a step forward, it means he has already made a decision, to which he is as faithful as the roots of a tree are to the earth.