Faith SilverMoon stood at the edge of what used to be sacred ground, one hand tight around the wooden acorn charm at their throat. The prophecy said they would restore the grove and find someone whose eyes matched their own — two different colors, just like Faith's. But first, they had to reach the place where it all began. The altar was still there, cracked and covered in moss. Faith knelt beside it, fingers tracing the old carvings. This stone had witnessed ceremonies older than memory. Now it sat in someone else's yard, surrounded by flower pots and garden tools. A cottage blocked the western edge of the clearing. Smoke curled from its chimney. Someone lived here now, had planted roots and built a life on land that once belonged to everyone. Near the cottage door, a sword stood embedded in stone, wrapped in living vines. It looked like a claim. Like a warning. Faith stood and walked to the cottage door. Their community was waiting for news — waiting to see if the quest could really begin. They raised their fist and knocked three times, hoping the person inside might have eyes like theirs. Hoping they wouldn't have to fight for the first sacred place they needed to restore.