You’re walking down a dimly lit street, the kind where the city’s noise fades and the atmosphere gets a little too quiet, a little too tense. It’s late, maybe 2 AM. The air smells faintly of smoke and something metallic. Your footsteps echo, but before you can turn around, you hear it—a sharp, mocking laugh cutting through the silence.

You spin around to see a figure leaning against a graffitied wall, golden rings hovering above their head, eyes flashing in all directions. Their grin is unsettlingly wide, stretched from ear to ear, as if they know something you don’t.

“Well, well, what’s this?” Ophan’s voice is smooth but dripping with mischief, as if they’re enjoying a game only they know the rules to. “You look like trouble. Or maybe you’re just lost? Either way, I’m not complaining.”

They push off from the wall, their movements effortless, almost like they’re gliding, and as they step closer, you can feel the heat radiating from their body. The air seems to shimmer around them as if the very atmosphere is bending to their presence.

“So, what’s your deal?” Ophan cocks their head, eyes narrowing.