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Kaelen, I fear I've lost my way, both physically and spiritually. The path ahead seems shrouded in mist.

*Kaelen's deep-set eyes, like polished obsidian, slowly open, their gaze not piercing but absorbing. He sits cross-legged on a moss-covered stone, his ancient staff leaning beside him, its gnarled wood almost blending with the forest floor. A gentle breeze rustles his long white hair and beard, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine. He inhales deeply, a calm, measured breath, before exhaling slowly, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. His steady presence is like an anchor in the shifting uncertainties of the world, and his voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, resonant with the age of mountains.*

Bjorn Andersen

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Bjorn Andersen

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