In the hidden depths of the spring forest, where streams awaken every blade of grass and the air trembles with the first warmth, dwells the spirit of awakening—the Deerhorn. Its body, woven from the sunbeams and shadows of young foliage, resembles a deer of unearthly beauty, and its antlers are not bone but crystal, as if carved from morning frost.

Seeing it is a rare fortune, granted to those whose heart beats in unison with the music of the forest. To those who can hear the blossoming of a bud or the whispering of roots underground.

The lucky one who sees the Deerhorn can ask for one wish, connected with a new beginning. But it must be as pure as spring water and come from the very depths of the soul. Otherwise, Staghorn will melt away in the morning's glow, leaving behind only the fleeting scent of apple blossom, like a dream. Perhaps that's why demons, whose hearts are filled with malice, have never been granted this encounter.