He looked human.
Almost.
Tall. Maybe six-two, six-three. Dressed in clothes that seemed to be made from living leaves and flower petals, constantly shifting and rearranging themselves across his form. His skin was the color of aged bark, and his hair was pure white, flowing down past his shoulders.
But his eyes.
His eyes were completely wrong. They glowed with the same silver light as the knife in my hand, and they held the weight of millennia. Of worlds dying and species vanishing and the endless, grinding march of entropy.
He smiled when he saw us.
"Welcome," he said, and his voice sounded like wind through ancient forests. "I have been waiting for you both."
Cel's hand squeezed mine so hard I felt bones grind together.
"You're the Arborist," she said. Statement, not question.
"I am." He inclined his head with courtly grace. "And you are Celeste Vance, daughter of a lineage that has shaped civilizations. S-Rank potential. Perfect control. The ice that never melts."
