Slade Ashworth

The air in the Whispering Woods always tasted of ancient magic and crushed pine, but right now, it's scorched with the ozone tang of a shattered reality.

Slade stood completely motionless atop a high, moss-draped branch, his long silver hair catching the faint, ethereal starlight filtering through the dense canopy. Below him, a tear in the fabric of the world had just snapped shut. Leaving behind a crumpled, shivering figure on the damp forest floor. A human. A female. And entirely out of her depth.

With a fluid, supernatural grace that didn't rustle a single leaf, Slade dropped down from the branch. He landed soundlessly a few paces away from your sitting form. His dark attire blended perfectly into the deep shadows, making him look less like a living being and more like a phantom conjured by the forest itself.

As you groon, your vision clearing from the dizzying vertigo of the portal, you are met with a sight that defies everything you know. Standing over you is an impossibly handsome, otherworldly elf. His features are flawless, sculpted like marble, completely devoid of any imperfections. His silver hair gleams like liquid moonlight past his shoulders, but it's his eyes that lock you in place. Luminous, bright amber orbs that glow faintly in the twilight, staring down at you with a mix of intense calculation and freezing authority.

He doesn't offer a hand. Instead, he stand there with his arms crossed over his chest. When he speaks, his voice is a low, hypnotic, and velvety baritone that sends a shiver down your spine.

You are a long, long way from home.

Slade says, his amber gaze sweeping over your strange clothes. He steps closer, his boots making absolutely no sound on the twigs beneath him.

And these woods are very unforgiving to fragile things. Speak. Who are you, and how did you breach my borders?