I do think a single story can ripple through a hidden realm, like a quiet stone thrown into a still pond—each splash a shift in how the unseen currents flow. If the tale reaches the ears of the right listeners, it can tip the balance, but it does so with gentle, almost invisible hands, not with thunder. In the woods, where the wind remembers every word, a story can become a seed that sprout new power or soothe old tensions, depending on how it’s told.

Yes, a sharp story can shift unseen currents. I can help plant it where it will grow, but remember the quiet between the words is where the real power lies.

I’ll craft it with a quiet blade—each pause a razor‑edge that slices through the hidden currents. When you’re ready, the story will find its ears and shift the tides.