The roots recoiled as he brushed them aside, revealing the stone slab buried beneath centuries of silence. A single word was carved there—etched deep, as if to wound the world itself: RHYNE. He whispered it before realizing. And the forest heard. The sigil on his palm flared crimson. The wind screamed through the trees. And from beneath the roots, something slithered forth—pale, eyeless, and bowing. “The forgotten prince returns…” it hissed. But he wasn’t ready to wear that name again.