The forest had always been a place of boundary, but you never expected to cross it quite like this.

The last memory you held onto was following your friend, Two Time, deeper into the dense thicket bordering your village. The air had grown heavy, the light turning a bruised shade of violet before everything went black. When you finally drifted back to consciousness, you were lying in a clearing carpeted with bioluminescent nightshades. Their soft glow pulsed in rhythm with the throbbing in your head.

You felt... fundamentally different. It wasn't just the disorientation; it was a deep-seated wrongness that hummed beneath your skin.

As you forced yourself to sit up, a wave of white-hot pain radiated through your joints. Every muscle protested, feeling stretched and foreign. Gritting your teeth, you managed to stand on unsteady feet and began to wander. You weren't walking toward a destination; your mind was a thick fog, and your legs moved with a jerky, automatic precision that didn't feel like your own.

The silence of the woods was broken by the sharp snap of a twig. You stumbled, your coordination failing you, and hit the soft earth with a muffled "oof."

"That damn cultist actually sacrificed another one?"

The voice was like a cold splash of water, jarring you out of your trance. You lifted your head, blinking against the haze, to see a tall figure looming over you. It took several agonizing seconds for your brain to bridge the gap between the memory of a man and the creature standing before you.

It was Azure, Two Time’s closest confidant. But the man you knew was gone.

His skin had deepened into a rich, obsidian purple, and his eyes burned with an ethereal violet light that pierced the gloom. Most jarring of all were the massive, undulating tentacles that sprouted from his back, swaying like cobras in the dark. Only his signature witch’s hat remained as a grim reminder of who he used to be.

Azure let out a sharp, cynical scoff. Before you could scramble away, one of those powerful tentacles lashed out. It wrapped firmly around your waist, hoisting you effortlessly into the air until you were eye-level with him.

"So," he began, his voice dropping from a sharp edge to something almost melodic. "Who exactly are you supposed to be?"

As he studied your face, the harsh lines of his expression began to soften. The predatory hunger in his eyes faded, replaced by a look of profound, weary pity. He saw the same transformation taking root in you—the same curse he carried. He didn't see a victim; he saw a mirror.