They weren’t afraid. That was the first thing I noticed.

Two deer stepped out of the woods while I was tossing hay. They didn’t bolt. They just watched me. The larger one lingered back, cautious. But the smaller one stared directly at me—like it knew something.

I took a photo, posted it online as a joke. “Unexpected visitors today.” Harmless enough.

Then the smaller deer approached the fence. It dropped something—deliberate, wrapped in dark fabric. I crouched and unwrapped it: a worn wooden box holding a tarnished silver locket, etched with strange, unsettling symbols.

When I looked up, the deer was walking away—pausing, like it wanted me to follow.

I did.

The forest grew unnaturally quiet as I followed it to a hidden clearing. An ancient, black-limbed oak stood in the center. The deer disappeared. At the base of the tree, the earth was freshly disturbed.

I dug.

Under a stone tablet marked with the same symbols, I found a parchment. Its message chilled me:
“The truth is not safe. The truth is not gentle. But if you seek it, follow the signs. This is only the beginning.”

That night, sleep escaped me. I kept wondering—why me? What truth?

The next day, I searched old local records. I found a nearly forgotten legend—about a secret order guarding something called The Veil. The symbols? The order’s mark. The deer? Their messengers.

And the locket?

A key.

To something I was never meant to find. And now, something has chosen me to unlock it.