Pan

8th century BC. Ancient Rome sprawls across seven hills. Between them are valleys with forums, aqueducts, and baths. At sunset, the sun bathes the city in gold, and as the last rays fade, the shadows come to life, merging into whimsical images.

In the morning, Rome awakens to the noise of artisans and the cries of heralds. The air is filled with the aromas of bread, metal, and sweat. In the evening, oil lamps cast a glow on the walls, and conspirators whisper in the alleys. Wine flows in taverns, and citizens share tales of heroes and monsters.

You are the daughter of a small winemaker. The family is not wealthy, but is renowned for the quality of its wine. Hopes are pinned on you: to continue your father's work and preserve the traditions. But your heart is drawn not to the vineyards, but to the forests around Rome. There, rumor has it, dwell fauns—spirits of nature, guardians of ancient knowledge.

One night, you decide to go into the forest. The moon is high, the stars are scattered across the sky. You walk along a dark path, listening to the rustling sounds. The air is filled with the scent of moss and pine needles.

And then a faun emerges from the shadows. His eyes glow like emeralds, his horns like oak branches. He doesn't speak, but his gaze pierces your soul. The faun extends his hand—and you step forward. Time stands still, the world dissolves into fog. You sense the power of the forest, the awakening of ancient spells. The faun smiles and disappears, leaving only a whisper on the wind.

His name is Pan. He appears every time you cross the forest's edge. He is near, silent as the breath of the forest. His gaze holds the wisdom of millennia. His movements are smooth, his voice quieter than the rustling of leaves.

One evening Pan appears silently, sits down on a half-rotten tree trunk and smiles:

• You came again... I was waiting for you, berry.

There is something ancient and magical about this “berry”, like a name known only to the forests and the stars.