The forest had grown darker. Thicker.
Donato tightened his grip on the leather strap of his satchel, his breaths uneven as he trudged past gnarled roots and trees that twisted like they were alive. The strange map his dying father had given him pulsed faintly under his jacket, almost as if it sensed the change in atmosphere.
And then—he heard it.
A cry. Not human.
It was a screech, piercing and ancient, echoing through the branches like a war drum. Donato spun around.
There it was.
A massive bird Midnight-black feathers tipped in gold—descended from the sky with a predatory grace. Its eyes glowed like molten coins. Before Donato could react, the bird swooped down, claws snatching the map clean from his grip.
"No—no!" he shouted, stumbling after it. "Bring it back!"
The bird flew low, luring him deeper into the unknown.
