The sky was a tapestry of fading twilight, where the final hues of sun sank beneath the horizon, casting long shadows upon the forest that remained untouched by human hands.
Deep within its heart, nestled between silver-leaved trees and mist-covered moss, was a primordial lake.
Its surface was as smooth as polished jade, a perfect mirror of the heavens above.
A lone figure stepped from the underbrush — hooded, draped in dark robes stitched with the runes of forgotten tongues.
His presence stirred neither birds nor beasts, for he walked with the silence of twilight itself.
He stood at the water's edge, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, and gazed down into the still lake.
The wind held its breath as he spoke.
"Lady Hecate," he whispered.
Ripples did not come.
No wave distorted the lake.
Instead, a face slowly appeared upon the surface, a vision not of water, but of soul and starlight.
