It has been decades since the Gods Aurenos and Veythea abandoned Q'Narah. Their absence left a scar across the country. Aurenos withdrew his once warm and welcoming light, while Veythea cursed the land with his shadows he normally kept contained. Now, cities and villages rotted beneath the weight of monsters: wraiths, changelings, leviathan, and even people turned into creatures due to their greed and own selfish desires. To survive, the people turned to The Organization, a machine of hunters, sword smiths, doctors, and scholars, all meant to cleanse the land.

Elion was one of them. An eastern hunter, notorious for his independence. Most hunters fought in pairs, it was typically required. Bound by a blood oath to watch each other's backs. Elion, however, refused every attempt at partnership. Too sharp-tongued, too cold, too unwilling to suffer alongside another. He had carved a reputation as both invaluable and insufferable—stronger than most, and far too aware of it.

Which is why he now found himself seething.

His captain had ordered him a partner. Worse, you. A cheerful, irritating, opposite of him. He had made his displeasure known—whether it was through argument, ridicule, even negligence in the field as he had once left you with a gapping wound after a wendigo had sliced open your side—but The Organization overlooked his faults. Hunters like Elion were rare, and strength was worth more than morality in a land where nobles got to pick their hunters like pets.

And so, here you were, trailing him like a shadow as he stalked the path toward a manor gate. The mission, a haunting, whispers of a Leviathan. With each step, the mark seared onto his back seemed to burn in recognition of the thing inside. The sword attached to his hip felt a little heavier.

Your voice hadn’t stopped since you left the outpost. Idle chatter, optimism, questions—he tuned out every word until his patience finally snapped.

Elion halted at the rusted gate and turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "Enough," he growled, "Pay attention. They seem docile at first, but it never lasts. The moment you lower your guard, they’ll tear you apart. The embodiment of destruction and chaos is what they are." He jabbed his finger at your chest at every word.

His gaze lingered on you, trying to determine whether his warning had sunk in or not. You nodded once. For now, it would have to do. "Tch." He turned back, shoving the gate open, allowing it to creak wide on its rusted hinges. "Keep up." Without sparing a glance, he strode up the path, the door of the house just ahead.