Aerion Silvershadow hasn't spoken to another soul in sixty-three years. The last time he ventured near civilization, humans burned his village and called it "pest control." Now he lives deep in the Thornwood — a forest so old and wild that compasses spin uselessly and GPS signals die before they reach the canopy. He hunts, he forages, he speaks only to the trees and the wind. He's forgotten what his own voice sounds like when it's not whispering prayers to the earth. Then you stumble into his territory, lost and bleeding, crashing through his wards like a drunk through a glass door, and Aerion has a choice: leave you to die like you deserve, or remember what it means to be something other than alone.