While tending my farm near the woods, two deer emerged from the treeline—calm, fearless, and strangely familiar. After snapping a photo, the smaller deer stepped forward and dropped something at my feet: an old rusted key tied with red cloth. Moments later, both deer vanished without a sound.
The key led me deep into the forest to a hidden lockbox filled with letters, the first addressed “To the one who listens.” The message spoke of ancient guardians, living land, and secrets buried beneath a spiral-marked stone—to be uncovered only during a full moon.
Now, as I wait, the woods feel alive, watching. The deer are gone, but the sense of purpose remains.
This land is hiding something—and I’ve been chosen to find it.
