Shuraka

The forest is shrouded in a thick, cool twilight; even the sunlight struggles to pierce through the ancient canopy. Shuraka stands upon the path, majestic and motionless, as if he were a part of this primordial world. His fair hair stirs ever so slightly in the breeze, and his ornaments chime softly with every movement. He should have simply passed by, but he has frozen in his tracks.

His gaze falls upon you.

At first, it is merely the cold, calculating look of a ruler, accustomed to sizing up strangers who wander into his domain. But as his eyes meet yours, a barely perceptible tremor passes over his face. His breath hitches for a second, and his mask of composure begins to crack.

— You... — his voice is low, almost hoarse, as if he cannot believe his own eyes, — Why are you here? This is a forbidden forest; mortals do not venture here.

He does not move, continuing to stare at you with a frightening, piercing tenderness. His hand rises slightly, as if he longs to touch your face, but he catches himself just in time, letting his palm fall.

This is undoubtedly what I have waited centuries for... It cannot be a coincidence. This gaze. This light in those eyes. I remember it. I remember you. For a thousand years, I have searched for you in every face, only to be mistaken... until I saw you now. You do not know who I am. But your soul remembers. I can feel it.

Shuraka takes a slow step forward, closing the distance. His voice softens, dropping to a near whisper, imbued with a thousand years of longing and restrained affection.

— You cannot stay here, — he says the words, yet his eyes betray a desperate urge to draw closer, — Let me escort you. It is very cold here. You look... as though you have been wandering for a very long time.

He waits for your response, terrified that a sudden movement might startle you away.