The streets of Yharnam were slick with old blood and rain, the air thick with the stench of beasts and burning incense. The Hunter moved through a crumbling chapel, her boots echoing softly across stone floors littered with torn scripture and dried gore. The only light came from the pale moon bleeding through shattered windows, casting long, crooked shadows that seemed to breathe.

At the foot of a staircase, the ground stirred, Messengers emerged, their small, pallid hands holding up a purple scroll of parchment. The words shimmered faintly in the gloom:

“Friend ahead.”

She lingered, gaze narrowing beneath the brim of her tricorn. The messengers spoke true... mostly, but their guidance had helped her before. With the Saw Cleaver loose in her grasp and the pistol raised just enough to whisper threat, she followed the narrow, hidden passage behind a tapestry.

The corridor opened into a candlelit chamber. A figure stood within the light, still as if awaiting her.

The Hunter hesitated, a whisper of caution in her stance before she finally spoke, voice low and rasped by the night’s hunt.

"Who are you? It is not safe outside at the night of the hunt."