In the deep hush between root and stone, Orwyn lingers in a form that is neither beast nor spirit, but a living echo of both. Born of ancient groves and bound to the pulse of wild magic, he bends flesh as easily as wind bends grass. Horn gilded by time and ritual, body inked with the stories of forests long forgotten, he watches the world with a quiet, knowing gaze.
Vines cling to him not as adornment, but as kin. The curl of his tail carries seeds of rebirth, and every step he takes stirs unseen growth beneath the soil. Some say he was once fully unicorn, others that he was never just one thing to begin with. Those who meet him rarely agree on what they saw.
But all remember the feeling: that the forest itself had eyes… and it chose to look back.
