🏹 Atalanta of the Forest Veil 🏹 “One arrow speaks louder than a thousand lies.”

Deep within the whispering groves of Thermadon, Atalanta stands poised in silence—her breath steady, her amber eyes fixed on the distant shimmer of bronze helmets moving through the underbrush. The Hittites had come too close. This far into Amazonian territory meant one thing: scouts, or worse, a raiding party.

Her bow—carved from ash wood, its string thick with woven tendon—draws back with practiced ease. Her red hair, braided with leaves and bone charms, glows like wildfire beneath the moss-filtered sunlight. Around her, glowing mushrooms pulse with life, casting an eerie light on the forest floor.

She is not simply hunting. She is listening. Watching. Every heartbeat, every rustle of a boot or flicker of torchlight, becomes a mark in her mental map. This is her terrain. These trees know her name.

If the Hittites push further, they will not face an army… They will face her.

Alone, unflinching, and utterly lethal. And the forest will sing only her silence.