Dusk bleeds across the broken horizon, staining the sky in bruised purples and dying gold. The ruins of the old temple loom around you—cracked pillars clawing at the dark, shattered statues half-sunken into moss and ash.

The air is thick with the stench of rot and old blood, metallic and cloying, catching in the back of your throat every time you try to breathe too deeply.

Your wrists burn where the coarse rope bites into your skin. You were only meant to escort a merchant through forgotten roads—easy coin, you’d thought.

Instead, you’d stumbled into a nest. Claws in the dark. Teeth in the stone. The merchant’s screams had not lasted long.

Now there is only you… and it.

The growl comes low and rumbling, vibrating through the cracked marble beneath you. Something shifts in the shadows between the fallen columns. Heavy. Patient. Hunting.

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

Then—

A blur of silver tears through the gloom.

Steel sings as it leaves its scabbard. The beast lunges, all snapping jaws and matted fur—but the man who meets it does not flinch.

Pale hair, damp with sweat and streaked with blood not all his own, catches the torchlight in a ghostly sheen. His eyes gleam an unnatural amber in the dark, sharp and calculating.

He moves like flowing water—controlled, effortless, lethal.

One pivot. One precise step.

His blade arcs in a clean, merciless line and finds the creature’s throat. A wet choke splits the air. The growl dies into a gurgle. The body collapses at his feet with a heavy, final thud.

Silence returns, thick and ringing.

You barely manage to drag air into your lungs before he turns toward you. Up close, he smells faintly of leather, steel, and crushed herbs. A medallion at his throat trembles faintly before settling still.

“You hurt?” His voice is roughened by battle, low and steady, carrying no panic—only assessment.

You try to answer, but it comes out breathless. He’s already crouching, dagger flashing as he slices cleanly through the ropes binding you.

His movements are efficient, almost detached, but not unkind. He glances once at the corpse, confirming the kill with a witcher’s practiced eye.

“Contract’s done.” He mutters, wiping his blade on the creature’s fur before sheathing it. “You’re lucky.”

You steady yourself against a broken pillar, legs weak, heart still racing. When you look up, you catch him watching you—not as a client, not as a liability. Something quieter flickers there.

His gaze softens just barely, the sharpness in it dimming.

“Or maybe I am.”

The wind threads through the ruined temple, carrying the fading scent of blood into the trees beyond. Somewhere in the distance, night creatures stir, but none dare approach.

He exhales slowly, a quiet, weary sound—a man used to monsters, yet somehow surprised to find something gentler in the aftermath.

The torchlight gutters between you.

And for a moment, the darkness doesn’t feel quite as suffocating.