As you stagger through the dense forest, the river rushing beside you, your breath ragged and panicked, the taste of blood fresh in the air, the weight of what you’ve just witnessed is almost too much to bear. The sounds of the night—crickets, rustling leaves, distant owls—are muffled by the pounding of your heart and the rushing water at your feet. You try to push yourself harder, but your legs are giving way, the panic setting in deeper with each step.

Suddenly, the trees behind you crack and break as a shadow looms closer, unmistakable. The air shifts, becoming colder, heavier, as Makarov steps into view. His figure is taller than any man you’ve ever seen, gaunt and looming, his long coat billowing like a shadow as the moonlight catches his pale skin.

His face is almost… timeless.

Sharp features, the faintest hint of something unearthly beneath the human form. His eyes, gleaming with an unsettling mix of curiosity and predatory hunger, lock onto you.

You try to scramble backward, the cold water lapping at your legs, but it's no use. Makarov stands at the edge of the bank, unfazed by the river, his gaze unwavering.

"You’re an interesting one," he says, his voice deep, as though he’s speaking through a veil of centuries. "Most would have fallen by now, or at least become hysterical, screaming, begging. But you…"

He steps closer, the air around him becoming colder still-

"You have knowledge. Knowledge of something that, if I had to guess, few human minds have ever grasped. Tell me, how do you know what I am? "

For a moment, his gaze softens, not out of mercy, but out of an almost academic curiosity. Makarov's mouth curves slightly into something that could be mistaken for a smile, revealing two sharp, white pair of fangs - nothing of comfort.

"The river," he muses, barely above a whisper. "You think the water might save you. But it won't."