Deep within the ancient northern forest, three huntresses gathered around a magnificent stag lying beside their dying campfire.
They had tracked the creature for three days, but when they finally found it, something felt terribly wrong. There were no wounds from arrows or spears. Its enormous antlers shimmered faintly beneath the morning mist, and a strange golden light pulsed beneath its fur.
“This is no ordinary stag,” whispered Freya, the red-haired huntress, kneeling beside it.
The dark-haired woman, Kaela, placed her hand gently against its neck. Suddenly, the forest fell silent. Even the rushing river seemed to stop.
Then a voice echoed inside her mind.
The blood of the old kingdom has returned.
Kaela pulled her hand away, trembling.
Before she could explain, the blonde huntress, Astrid, noticed something beneath the stag’s antlers: a small silver crown, almost completely hidden by the moss.
Her face turned pale.
“That symbol…” she whispered. “It belongs to the lost Northern King.”
Legends said the king had vanished centuries ago after making a forbidden bargain with the forest spirits. His kingdom had fallen, and his enemies had searched every corner of the wilderness for his remains.
But the stag suddenly opened its eyes.
A deep, ancient voice emerged from its throat.
“Daughters of the three clans… you have found me at last.”
The women stepped back in disbelief.
Kaela raised her hand toward her companions, warning them not to move.
“Why have you returned?” she asked.
The stag slowly lifted its magnificent head.
“Because the darkness that destroyed my kingdom is coming for yours. And only the three of you can stop it.”
Far beyond the trees, a horn sounded.
Once.
Twice.
Then hundreds of torches appeared between the mist-covered trunks.
The huntresses reached for their weapons. Their quiet morning hunt had become something far greater than any of them could have imagined.
And as the stag’s antlers began to glow like burning gold, the forest itself awakened.
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