Oberon’s Journal — Opening Entry
I begin this journal not because I trust memory, but because I no longer do. Since the wound to my head, whole seasons of my life lie missing—cleanly cut away, like tracks erased by rain. What remains comes in fragments: the smell of pine after snowfall, the sound of leaves underfoot, a name that stirs something painful and warm all at once. Writing, I am told, may help. If my thoughts are scattered, perhaps ink will hold them still long enough for me to find myself again.
My father died when I was young, young by elven reckoning, and his absence shaped me more than I understood at the time. I learned early that trees do not ask questions, and animals do not judge silence. I became a ranger because the wild never demanded explanations. Years later my mother remarried, bringing a stepsister, Luna, and eventually my baby sister, Emeria. Of all my memories, my love for Emeria is the clearest. She followed me everywhere, wide-eyed and fearless, and through our wanderings she found her calling as a druid. Even now, with so much of my past in shadow, that bond remains unbroken.
There is another presence in my life—one I remember only in glimpses. A wounded bear cub. Gentle hands. Laughter in the trees. Faylith. I know I loved her, though I cannot recall how it ended. I know only that we planned to leave together, and that someone did not wish it so. The enclave—Emeria among them—found me broken and bleeding, and brought me back from the brink. They say I was left for dead. Of the attack itself, I remember nothing. This journal will be my trail through the fog, a way to mark what I learn, what I feel, and what may yet return. If my memories cannot be trusted, then these pages will have to be.
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Oberon and Oberon’s Journal base images were built using ChatGPT using prompts by Alien Graphics ©2026 Alien Graphics
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