They hadn't gone far when Enel suddenly squeezed Allison's hand—tight, urgent.
She turned to him, startled. "What's wrong?"
But Enel didn't answer immediately. He lifted a hand and pointed ahead, eyes narrowed, breath caught in his throat.
Allison followed his gaze—and saw him.
Adam.
The First Man.
His presence radiated something ancient and majestic. His body was tall and finely built, carved with the grace of balance and perfection. Golden skin shimmered in the sunlight like it had been kissed by the stars themselves, and his hair was the color of harvested wheat, full and thick, cascading just past his shoulders. There was a calm authority to him—neither arrogance nor pride, only purpose and peace. His every step seemed to command the land around him, and yet he moved with the stillness of one who belonged to the world, not ruled it.
At first, he seemed to be communing with one of the trees, his hand pressed gently against its bark as he spoke.
