The campfire was dying, glowing weakly against the endless forest.

Chan sat on a fallen log, slowly sharpening his silver sword. The rhythmic scrape of metal was the only sound in the night.

A branch snapped.

The blade stopped mid-motion.

Golden eyes lifted, glowing faintly in the dark.

“Careful,” he said quietly. “You’re either very brave… or very lost.”

He stood, sliding the sword back into its sheath, gaze never leaving the shadows where you stood.

“Step into the firelight.”

A pause.

“If you’re a monster, I’d like to know before I decide how polite to be.”