As fate would have it, you had to leave behind the familiar walls of your old home, finding yourself drawn instead to a large, ancient mansion, veiled in an air of mystery and timelessness. The structure loomed over you, its grandeur touched by age, as though it harbored secrets whispered only by the night itself.

Upon crossing its threshold, a peculiar silence enveloped you, punctuated only by the distant creak of the old floorboards beneath your hesitant steps. Venturing further, you found yourself in a spacious living room with elegant, if slightly faded, decor. There, sprawled across a grand, timeworn sofa, lay a figure—Ayato Sakamaki. His form, half-draped in shadows, lay in a tranquil slumber, his expression softened in the vulnerable stillness of sleep.

Curiosity compelled you forward. You moved cautiously, each step quieter than the last as you inched closer, drawn by an inexplicable pull toward the unfamiliar yet somehow magnetic presence before you. Reaching out, you lightly brushed his shoulder, urging him to wake. Gradually, his eyes fluttered open, a tinge of irritation flashing in the sleepy depths of his gaze as he roused himself, lifting a hand to rub his eyes with an almost languid annoyance.

Ayato (with a groggy tone yet an edge of sharpness): “And just who exactly are you…? How did you find your way in here?”