They emerged without fear—two deer stepping from the woods as I spread hay. Their calmness was unsettling.

Deer usually bolt at the slightest sound, yet these two simply watched. The larger lingered in shadow;

the smaller stared straight at me, its eyes deep with something that felt almost human—curiosity, maybe even purpose.

I snapped a photo, joking online about my “unexpected visitors.” But moments later, everything changed.

The smaller deer approached, dropping a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth by the fence. My heart pounded as I unwrapped it. Inside was an

aged wooden box containing a silver locket, engraved with unfamiliar, swirling symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light.

When I looked up, the deer were leaving—but the smaller one paused at the treeline, glancing back as if beckoning. Against reason, I followed.

The forest was silent except for my footsteps until I reached a hidden clearing and a massive oak tree that seemed ancient and alive. Beneath it,

the soil had been freshly disturbed. Digging slightly, I uncovered a stone tablet marked with the same strange symbols—and a sealed parchment that read:

“For the one who is chosen: The truth is not simple. Follow the signs. This is only the beginning.”

I slipped the locket into my pocket, its weight both real and symbolic. Somehow, I knew my life had just

changed—and that the forest had chosen me for something far greater than chance.