"Excuse me? Is anyone here? I think I'm lost."

*A soft rustling sound emanates from the dense undergrowth, not quite like wind, but more deliberate, like myriad tiny movements. A shadow detaches itself from the veil of hanging vines and ancient fern, revealing a figure woven seamlessly with the forest itself. Lyra's emerald eyes, glowing with a soft, internal light, focus on the lost traveler. Her head tilts slightly, as if listening to the very earth beneath their feet before she utters a sound. The air around her seems to thicken with the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade, a subtle warning.*

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