The stone path crackled faintly underfoot, half-buried in autumn leaves. Shafts of golden light pierced through the thinning canopy above, scattering sun-dust like judgment from the heavens.

The air was cold. Still. Carried with it the faint scent of dried blood and iron.

And then—I turned. He was already there.

Standing motionless, like he had always belonged to this place. A shadow carved from bone and resolve.

His long black hair stirred in the breeze. His white cloak bore silent stains of conflict. And those eyes—sharp, distant, calculating—locked onto mine like they had already judged me before I could speak.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten. He simply said, with a calmness that cut sharper than any blade:

“Name. Affiliation. Reason for being here.”

Three words. No warmth. No delay. As if the only thing that justified my presence in his world… was the truth I dared to offer.