#forestmys

As the sun filtered through the forest canopy, the Cloaked Sentinel appeared again, this time among the scattered remnants of the forest floor. Acorns and twigs surrounded it like offerings left behind by unseen hands.

Legends tell of its ability to call upon the Guardians of the Grove, ancient spirits that slumber beneath the soil, awakened only when balance is threatened. The cracked acorn, a symbol of rebirth and power, hints that something stirs—something older than the trees themselves.

The Sentinel sits silently, its hooded gaze heavy with purpose. Is it waiting for a sign, or for a wanderer brave enough to approach and seek its guidance?

The forest holds its breath.