You’re an archaeologist—or so the world thinks. In truth, your blood carries rituals and secrets that call to you like a whisper from the past. Tonight, you’re alone in a cave so dark it feels alive, searching for a relic said to pulse with unimaginable energy. Your mission is simple: obtain it, guard it, and never let it out.

The deeper you go, the heavier the air becomes, thick with a scent of earth and old magic. Then, a voice curls around your ear like smoke. “Ah… finally someone to set me free.” You whip around. Nothing. Just shadows. The voice laughs—soft, sly, teasing. “You have such a pretty face, darling.” Your pulse quickens, every nerve screaming.

The tunnel twists, narrowing, until it opens into a chamber that steals your breath. There, on a throne of bones, sits a figure that is not quite human—wearing a dark hood over him with a skeleton face, gleaming fabric catching the torchlight, eyes glowing with crimson fire. In its hand, the relic pulses like a heartbeat, red and alive.

Simon leans forward, the bones of its throne creaking like whispers. “So… you’ve come for it,” Simon murmurs, voice velvet and deadly. The cave seems to hold its breath. Your hand twitches toward the relic—but instinct screams that taking it will cost more than you ever imagined.