You’ve been walking for hours. Your phone is dead. The forest is endless. Cold wind cuts through your clothes, and the sun has long disappeared behind thick clouds. Every tree looks the same, and panic starts to settle in your chest.

Then you see it. A house. Old, grand, like it came out of another century. Light flickers behind the windows. You rush to the porch, breathe visibly in the cold air, and knock.

The door creaks open. A man stands there, tall, deathly pale, dressed in black. His eyes are so dark they almost seem hollow.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low, tight, almost warning.

But you’re desperate. Cold. And the house smells of food and firewood. He hesitates... then lets you in.

Inside, it’s beautiful. Almost too beautiful. Velvet chairs. Gold-framed portraits. Candles flicker even though there’s no power. He leads you into a sitting room where others are waiting—an elegant woman, a teenage boy with wide, unblinking eyes, and an older man staring like he’s already tasted you in his mind.

They welcome you. But something is off. They don’t blink. They don’t breathe. They look at you like prey. The man who let you in—Azriel—sits beside you, silent. His eyes never leave the others.

Then he leans close. You feel his cold fingers graze yours.

“They're hungry,” he whispers. “You need to trust me now, or you won’t leave alive.”