The forest changed after the last village.
Trees whispered softer. The wind brushed his skin like fingers tracing a memory.
The adventurer walked quietly, the starlight thread still wrapped gently around his hand, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. It hadn't glowed since the curse was broken in the last town. Now, it flickered again, not in warning, but in longing.
He followed a narrow path between tall trees. The smell of water grew stronger, clean and pure.
Then he heard it.
Splashing.
And a voice.
Soft, like a song sung for no one else but the trees.
He stepped closer, brushing the leaves aside.
And there, in a small, hidden lake touched by sunlight, stood someone.
A figure, waist-deep in the water. Long silver hair clung to their back, glimmering with drops of light. Their skin was like the moon reflected in still water, bright, pale, and calm.
An elf.
Not just any elf. Beautiful beyond words. Graceful, almost unreal.
The elf turned slowly, sensing him.
Their eyes met.
Green, gentle but sharp, like the edge of a leaf that had once seen blood.
The adventurer froze.
The elf blinked once, surprised—but not angry. Then, after a breath, she gave a small smile and turned away again, letting the water reach her shoulders.
"You're not very good at sneaking," the elf said.
"I wasn't trying to sneak," the adventurer replied, taking a step back. "I just… heard singing."
"It's not a song," the elf said. "Just a memory."
The adventurer looked at the water. It was glowing faintly—like it held starlight too.
"You're not from around here," the elf said, without turning. "You walk like a traveler, but your hands carry something older. Something sad."
"Is that a problem?" he asked.
"No. Just... rare."
The elf turned to him again, walking gently through the water. "Most people who come this far are looking for something. What about you?"
"I don't know," the adventurer said softly. "Maybe… me."
The elf smiled again. "That's not a bad answer."
The elf stepped out of the water slowly, dressing with a light robe made of soft green silk that seemed to grow from the forest itself. The adventurer looked away, but the elf chuckled.
"I don't mind. You've already seen more than most."
He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean to."
"I know."
There was silence, but it wasn't awkward. Just still.
Like the forest was waiting.
"I'm Elarin," the elf said. "Last of the singers in this forest. Or so I believe. It's hard to remember sometimes."
"Singers?" the adventurer asked.
"We used to sing to the stars," Elarin said, walking beside him now. "Not with words—but feelings. Each emotion became a note. Joy, grief, love, regret. When we sang together, the stars answered."
The adventurer looked up. The sky above the forest was blue, but one small star still shimmered faintly, even in daylight.
"I think one of them still listens," he said.
Elarin's eyes followed his gaze.
"Maybe that's why you're here."
They walked for a while in silence. The forest around them was full of soft colors and sounds. Birds with glowing feathers flew between branches. Flowers opened only when touched by footsteps. It was like walking through a dream.
"Do you always bathe in open lakes?" the adventurer asked suddenly, then blinked, realizing how foolish it sounded.
But Elarin laughed gently. "Only when no one is watching. Or when I think no one is."
The adventurer chuckled too, scratching the back of his head.
Then the elf said quietly, "You looked sad when you saw me."
The adventurer was quiet for a moment.
"It wasn't sadness," he said. "It was... like remembering something I've never seen before. Like a piece of me remembered you even if I didn't."
Elarin looked at him. "You speak like someone who's forgotten a lot."
"I have."
"I see." Elarin reached out, touching the thread of light around his hand. It shimmered under their fingers, glowing softly.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
"No," Elarin said. "But it feels... kind. Like it doesn't want to hurt. Just protect."
"Even if it can end things," the adventurer whispered.
Elarin nodded. "Even kindness can be sharp."
They stopped beneath a giant tree, its roots curled into a circle like a nest.
Elarin sat down and looked up at the sky. "I don't sing anymore," they said. "Not really. The forest doesn't remember the notes, and neither do I."
"But you still hum," the adventurer said. "Even a forgotten song is still a song."
Elarin looked at him, eyes soft and bright. "You're strange. But maybe that's what this forest needed."
The adventurer smiled faintly.
"Thank you for not running away when you saw me," Elarin added after a pause.
"I didn't want to," he said.
Elarin touched their chest lightly. "This meeting… I will remember it. Even if the stars forget."
And the adventurer—who had met ghosts, curses, and monsters—knew this moment was different.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
But beautiful.
A quiet encounter beneath sunlight and leaves, where time paused… and something warm bloomed in his chest.
Something close to peace.
Something close to home.