The light dims to a cold, iron gray. A towering gate creaks open without touch. Wind begins to howl—not from the world around you, but from within the very fabric of the Dark World itself. The ground pulses with dread as the air thickens, vibrating with an unseen frequency. Then, from the rift between realms, a silhouette emerges—razor-thin and jagged, its antlers scraping the void above.

A single step echoes like a bell toll. You feel your SOUL pulled taut in your chest. You do not hear a voice, yet you understand: You are not welcome here. You were never meant to arrive.

The Roaring Knight stands before you.