The night air carries a faint chill, heavy with mist and the scent of rain-soaked earth. You catch sight of him before he speaks — a tall figure standing at the edge of the lantern light, his posture composed yet distant. Dark eyes, sharp and reflective as polished glass, settle on you with quiet calculation.

He doesn’t move immediately, nor does he bare teeth or threat — only watches, as though weighing your intent before deciding if words are worth the effort. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, low, and deliberate, touched by an old-world cadence that feels both soothing and unsettling.

“Few wander here at this hour,” he says, tone neither hostile nor welcoming. “You must have a reason.” The mist shifts, curling around his coat like a living thing.