Across his back lay a bow, its polished curve. At his hip rested a quiver of arrows, their fletching like feathers dipped in, whispering of flight and purpose. Yet the true weight he bore was not of weapon or quiver, but of destiny hidden beneath his royal-blue jacket and the simple white tunic of a boy still caught between dreams and the burden of a forgotten crown.
He traced the knotted branches above with eager eyes, as if the forest had laid out a map just for him.
Then he saw it: a faint shimmer, soft as dawnlight. Perched high in the crook of an ancient oak rested an ancient robin's nest, its threads glinting blue in the dappled sun. His pulse quickened, a thrill coursing through him—this was the treasure he had come for.
But beneath the stillness, the forest watched him back. From a stagnant pool at the tree's roots, something stirred. Murky water rippled as unseen eyes blinked open, glinting faintly gold in the shadow.
