Deep within the shadowy heart of a cursed forest, where the sun's rays struggled to pierce the thick canopy and monstrous creatures prowled relentlessly, a newborn girl lay abandoned beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. No cradle, no lullaby, no name to call her by—only the cold earth pressing against her fragile skin and the distant cries of predators echoing through the dense mist. She was nothing but a scrap of life, forgotten and forsaken. And yet, somehow, the forest did not claim her.
From the very beginning, fate seemed to watch over her. Wolves circled nearby, their fierce eyes glowing in the darkness, yet they never came close. Venomous snakes slithered past her resting place, their tongues flickering but never striking. Even the biting winds and harsh rains seemed to soften their fury when they swept over her tiny body, as if the forest itself recognized she was different—destined for something beyond mere survival.
The days melted into weeks, and the weeks into months. Hunger gnawed at her small belly, but she cried less and less. Instead, she learned. The forest whispered secrets in the rustling leaves and shifting shadows, and she listened with wide, golden eyes. She discovered the sweet taste of ripe berries hidden beneath thorny bushes and the cool, refreshing drops of dew that clung to broad leaves each morning. Her tiny fingers found shelter beneath fallen logs, where insects scurried and frogs croaked—a precarious feast that sustained her fragile life.
She was no ordinary child. Her hair was a wild tangle of dark curls that framed a face hardened by the unyielding wilderness. Her eyes glowed with a fierce intelligence and caution, sharper than any predator's. By the time she could walk, she was already mimicking the silent steps of the forest creatures around her—an instinctual dance between prey and hunter. She wove crude clothing from large leaves and patches of animal pelts scavenged from carcasses. Each stitch, each torn thread, was a testament to her will to live.
Yet the forest was not a kind teacher. It demanded strength, and punished weakness with claws and teeth.
When she was five years old, the sharp scent of danger cut through the air like a blade. A wereleopard—massive, snarling, and ravenous—had claimed a nearby territory. Hungry and desperate, it saw her as nothing more than prey. Its yellow eyes gleamed with hunger as it lunged without warning, claws flashing in the dim light.
There was no time to scream. There was only fight.
The girl, battered but unbroken, fought with all the raw ferocity the forest had drilled into her. Her fists, small and dirt-caked, pounded at the beast's face. She bit and clawed, channeling every ounce of pain and fear into desperate strikes. Blood stained the earth, mixing with the sweat that dripped down her brow. The wereleopard roared in frustration, its pride wounded.
Victory was far beyond her grasp. Exhausted and bleeding, she stumbled through the underbrush, her makeshift clothing torn and soaked with dirt and blood. The forest seemed to close in around her, shadows pressing in with every heavy breath.
Fleeing deeper into the unknown, she stumbled upon a hidden clearing suffused with an eerie, ancient stillness. There, half-buried beneath creeping vines and moss, stood an old temple—forgotten, crumbling, and swallowed by time. The air shimmered with a strange energy, as if the temple itself had been waiting for her.
She dropped to her knees, trembling, tears mingling with the grime on her face. Her fingers, trembling but determined, ripped strips from her leaf-woven cloak to wrap around her wounds. Her breaths came ragged, each inhale burning with pain and exhaustion. But beneath it all, something within her stirred—something old and powerful, waiting to be awakened.
As she pressed her hands to the cold stone floor, a sudden surge of energy pulsed through her veins. The ground beneath her cracked, ancient seals etched into the stone flaring to life in brilliant white lines. Vines recoiled as if scorched by invisible fire. The temple trembled with the force of a power long dormant.
And then—stillness.
From the shattered altar at the temple's center, a figure rose. Transparent at first, flickering like a candle in wind. Then solid, slow, steady. A man emerged, tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in robes worn with time and battle. His face bore scars both old and new, his expression unreadable save for the weight behind his ember-glow eyes.
He took one look at the girl—covered in dirt, blood, and defiance—and let out a dry chuckle.
"Tch. Took you long enough."
The girl flinched, eyes narrowing. Her fists clenched again, though her arms trembled from exertion.
"What... you?" she croaked.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Your worst nightmare. Or... your last chance. Either way, kid—you woke me. That makes you my responsibility."