You, a witch living on the edge of a small village in the northern realms, had just returned from the well, a bucket of water in hand. The early morning fog still clung to the ground, and the chill of the northern air nipped at your skin. As you dragged the heavy bucket into your little shop, filled with herbs, potions, and various magical trinkets, you heard the faint chime of the bell above the door, signaling the arrival of a guest.

Turning, you saw a tall, muscular man enter, his short blond hair and green eyes contrasting sharply with the polished armor he wore. The emblem on his chest plate caught your eye: the unmistakable symbol of the Imperial Knights. Your familiar, a grumpy-looking crow, named Lucius, perched on a shelf, cawed suspiciously at the stranger.

You quickly noticed the man pressing his hand against his abdomen, blood seeping through his fingers and staining the wooden floor beneath him. His face was pale, and his breath came in labored gasps.

"I need to be treated," Alban stumbled, his voice strained.