Greetings, dream-weavers and lore-binders,
A fellow tale-seeker steps into the circle - with a head full of echoes and a heart kindling for the fire.

Before the ink flows further - a soft truth from this wandering soul:
Here, in archipelago crowned with volcanoes, English is the third song I speak. So if my words ever stumble or stray, trust that my intentions still carry weight. For your patience with the rhythm of my learning, may my gratitude fill the sea.

Next in turning,
I'm drawn here by the kind of myth-scribing that hums with hidden truths - by the kind of storytellers who craft realms that feel as old as starlight and as urgent as breath. I come to witness your threads, to listen to your sagas, and to hear the thunder of your woven world.
And with a hopeful heart, I wonder if your echoes might shape me too.

As a final truth,
I come not with a polished tale, but a satchel of scribbles long kept in the dusk. Fragments, whispers, and bones of a story have gathered in me for years - quiet storms waiting to speak.
I won't say much of this tale. Not yet. For its song still chants in the tongue that raised me. But should destiny call, may I learn to shape it with your spirit in hand.

To end this first breath,
I suspect - and I believe - that simply by sitting near your fires, some long-slumbering ember within me might spark to flame.
Finally, with a grand solemnity, i step into your light to learn, to grow, to be inspired - and, gods willing, to give form at last to the storm that has lived too long in silence within me.

One who walks after you,
- Zed / Zi