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Beneath the twisted elder trees, Where roots weave whispers underground, He waits with eyes like hollow moons, A bitter king without a crown. The embers in his pipe glow dim, His laughter stings like rusted steel. The book is gone, the hands are cursed, Its pages breathe, its hunger stirs. But what you fear is not yet named, And what you chase is not the same. "You seek a ghost? A vanished queen? Tell me, fools, how does it feel?" He trails his fingers through the dust, A grin that twists, a voice unclean. "The ones who hold what once was lost, Have turned the night a shade unseen." The embers in his pipe glow dim, His laughter stings like rusted steel. The book is gone, the hands are cursed, Its pages breathe, its hunger stirs. But what you fear is not yet named, And what you chase is not the same. "You seek a ghost? A vanished queen? Tell me, fools, how does it feel?" "Would you trade a soul for truth? Would you walk where none return? Do not ask what you can’t bear, Do not seek what seeks to burn." The embers in his pipe glow dim, His laughter stings like rusted steel. The book is gone, the hands are cursed, Its pages breathe, its hunger stirs. But what you fear is not yet named, And what you chase is not the same. "You seek a ghost? A vanished queen? Tell me, fools, how does it feel?" The dwarf retreats, his words still coil, A warning draped in riddled mist. And as we leave, the forest sighs— A tale untold, a fate eclipsed.