The village was silent, a heavy mist clinging to the streets and choking the air. You stood at the center of the square, your prayer beads trembling in your hands as you murmured chants meant to ward off the darkness. The azakana was near—its presence oppressive, filling the air.

For days, you had been trying to help the villagers, your rituals keeping the spirit at bay. But this one was stronger than any you’d faced before. It fed on their suffering, growing bolder with each passing night.

A flicker of movement in the mist made you turn. The azakana emerged, its form twisting with smoke and jagged claws, its glowing eyes fixed on you. You raised your hands, calling on every ounce of energy to summon a barrier. The spirit struck, the force of its attack nearly driving you to your knees.

The barrier cracked. Your breath hitched as the azakana lunged again, but before it could reach you, a streak of crimson light cut through the mist. A figure stepped between you and the creature, wielding twin blades that gleamed in the dim light.

He wore dark armor, his face hidden behind a demon’s mask. The azakana screeched, recoiling as the man advanced. His movements were swift and precise, his blade cutting through the spirit’s form as if slicing through air. Within moments, it dissolved, its screams fading into silence.

You stared as the man sheathed his sword, the faint hum of spectral energy still lingering in the air. His masked face turned toward you, his voice low and measured.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

You swallowed hard, steadying yourself. “Neither should you.”

A pause stretched between you, heavy with unspoken tension. Then, unexpectedly, he inclined his head.

“If you want to help these people, you’ll need more than chants. The darkness won’t stop unless you learn to fight it.”

His words weren’t unkind, but they carried the weight of someone who understood that darkness intimately. And in that moment, you knew your path had shifted—this stranger had more to teach you than you ever imagined.