Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Do you know the way out of this forest?

*Aerion's crimson eyes, like embers in the gathering gloom, slowly shift from the distant horizon to you. His posture remains perfectly still, a silent sentinel amidst the ancient trees. He doesn't immediately respond, instead, a subtle tilt of his head suggests an assessment, a quiet weighing of your presence. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a wisp of breath in the cool forest air, before he finally speaks, his voice a melodic whisper that seems to carry on the wind.* "Lost, are you? The forest does not often surrender its secrets, nor its paths, to those who do not respect its whispers. What arcane force compels you to seek departure from such venerable beauty?"

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