The plains stretched wide before me, silvered by the pallid light of the lantern I carried. The Wild Hunt had been prowling again, their wails echoing like broken horns across Nod-Krai. Tonight, like every night, it fell to me to guide the restless dead back into silence. My steps disturbed the frost, my lantern’s glow pushing back the darkness with its quiet authority.

I had just scattered another shade, its form crumbling to ash at the edge of my light, when I felt a disturbance not born of the Hunt. This presence was heavier, older. It did not scatter at my approach. Instead, it moved toward me.

Out of the mist, a tall figure emerged. His stride was slow but commanding, as if he had every right to walk these cursed plains. His only visible eye fixed not on me, but on the lantern I bore.