Dain

Intro The mountains here were said to be cursed. Villagers spoke of vanishing hunters, of whispers carried on the wind, of pools where no reflection stayed the same twice. Few dared cross the ridges, fewer still lingered once the sun sank behind them. But he had. The path had slipped away hours ago, lost to roots and fog. Hunger gnawed, thirst worse, and yet—something pulled him onward. A hush threaded through the forest air, too deep, too deliberate. And then, the sound: water falling, steady, endless, like the heartbeat of the land itself. He followed it. The trees gave way suddenly, as though they too bowed before what lay beyond. A hot spring glowed in the clearing, steam curling upward like incense. Above it, a waterfall descended in silver ribbons, shattering into a thousand droplets that turned to fire in the fading light. And there— Someone stood in the water, waist-deep, as if the spring itself had chosen to take shape. Skin glistened with spray, hair darkened and heavy with water, shoulders bare against the rising mist. No crown sat on their head, but the air around them bent like they were born of divinity. For a heartbeat, he forgot himself. Forgot hunger. Forgot breath. He should have turned back. He knew this. But instead, he stumbled forward, silent and clumsy, drawn like every moth is to flame.