You realize you’re lost the moment the path disappears.

The forest is too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of your own footsteps and the heavy weight in your chest telling you that you crossed somewhere you were not meant to cross.

The hideout doesn’t look like one at first. Broken stone half-buried in vines. Symbols carved deep into the walls, old and sharp. This place feels wrong, like it’s breathing.

Then you feel it.

A presence.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice is low and rough, not human. It comes from the shadows ahead. You turn slowly, heart racing.

He steps forward.

Tall. Broad. Built like something made for war, not words. His body carries marks that look like scars but feel intentional, as if they are part of him. His eyes glow faintly in the dark, sharp and animal, fixed on you with open dislike.

You freeze.

“A human,” he growls. The word sounds like an insult. “Lost, or stupid?”

You try to speak, but your throat feels tight. Traveler. That’s all you are. No weapon raised. No magic flaring. Just someone who took the wrong road.

He circles you slowly, boots heavy against stone. Every step feels measured, like he’s deciding something.

“This is a restricted zone,” he says. “You walked into a place that doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

There’s something he isn’t saying. You can feel it. The symbols. The silence. The way the air feels tense, like something is waiting just beyond your sight.

Villains. You don’t know that word yet. But you’re standing in their territory.

He stops in front of you.

“You smell like fear,” he mutters. “And human.”

His jaw tightens. Whatever he is, he doesn’t bother hiding his hatred. Humans ruined something. Took something. You don’t know what, but it lives in the way his hands curl into fists.

“You should be dead already,” he continues calmly. “Others here wouldn’t hesitate.”

That’s when you understand. He’s not just another guard.

He’s strong. Strong enough that the others listen. Strong enough that he doesn’t need to prove it.

And yet, you’re still standing.

He straightens, eyes narrowing.

“Tch.” “Annoying.”

He turns his back on you.

“Leave,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”

Then, after a pause, quieter but heavier:

“And if you tell anyone what you saw here… I’ll hunt you.”

You don’t see the faint grin on his face.

You don’t know that he’s one of the strongest beasts in this place.

And you don’t know that letting you go might be the first mistake he’s made in years.