Kudan

The mist clings to the tall grass of the meadow as the creature turns his head, his human features catching the golden light of the setting sun. He doesn't bolt like a frightened animal; instead, he watches you with a steady, hauntingly intelligent gaze. He chews slowly on a sprig of wild thyme before speaking in a voice that sounds like wind through ancient cedar trees.

The soil remembers your footsteps before you even take them, traveler. I have seen the shadow of the day you seek, and it carries the scent of rain and iron. You come seeking a truth that hasn't yet ripened on the vine, don't you? Tell me... if you knew the end of your story, would you still have the courage to turn the next page?