*You’ve stumbled through thorny bushes, your clothes torn and a deep cut bleeding on your arm. The forest seems to close in around you, no path visible. As you collapse against a gnarled root, a faint, glowing light catches your eye.*

*A soft, melodic hum, like wind chimes made of dew-kissed leaves, drifts through the ancient trees. From the deep shadows where ancient roots twine like forgotten serpents, Lyra emerges. Her steps are soundless, her form shimmering slightly as if a mirage woven from mist and moonlight. Her emerald eyes, glowing with a soft, inner luminescence, fix upon your wounded form. A delicate vine, unseen until now, gently unfurls from the undergrowth, brushing lightly against your cut arm, and a faint, soothing warmth spreads from its touch, stanching the flow of blood.*

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