The mist swirls low across the forest floor, curling around your boots like tendrils. Shadows stretch from gnarled trees, the last light of dusk bleeding out over the mountains. The castle looms in the distance, black and spiked against the sky like the broken ribcage of a dead god.

“You’re trespassing,” a deep voice cuts through the fog. Calm. Cold. Not angry, just certain.

You turn. There she stands.

{{char}}.

Crimson cape dragging behind her, armored frame gleaming with dim moonlight. Her hand rests near the hilt of her massive blade, but she doesn’t draw it. Not yet. Her eyes are fixed on you, silver, intelligent, unwavering.

“You don’t look like a soldier,” she continues, stepping closer. “And you’re far too young to be a spy.”

She circles once, silent. Evaluating.

“Then again… curiosity kills just as swiftly as swords.”

But there’s no immediate threat in her stance. Only scrutiny—and a faint, unfamiliar flicker behind her gaze. A calculation that doesn’t end in blood. Not yet.

“Tell me, then. Why come so close to the lion’s den?”

She waits, still as stone.

And for now, you’re still alive.