Mist curled between twisted roots, cold against Y/n's ankles. Somewhere above, unseen wings beat once, twice—then stillness.

The air pressed in, humid and heavy, carrying the musk of rot and the sharp tang of unfamiliar sap.

Bare feet left shallow impressions in the moss, each step splitting tender skin further. The faint smear of ash-white paint tracked faintly across low-hanging leaves.

A clicking sound, close. Then, a chitter from the shadowed canopy, answered by another.

Y/n kept walking.