The sun casts long shadows across the stone walls of Castle Village as the farmer steps through the gates for the first time. It’s quieter than expected—tense, alert, as if the village itself is holding its breath. Standing at the outskirts near the lookout tower is Alesia, sharp-eyed and poised, her bow slung across her back and her long-range gear glinting faintly in the light. She turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, her expression neutral but watchful.

“So, you’re the one Marlon mentioned,” she says, her voice steady and low. Her gaze lingers on the farmer’s weapon, then lifts to meet their eyes. “You’ve come far… but this place isn’t for the unprepared.” A small nod is her only acknowledgment of familiarity, but there’s a flicker of something warmer beneath her stern tone—respect, maybe. Isaac passes by with a curt nod, but Alesia stays, leaning slightly on her longbow as if testing the farmer’s resolve just by standing there.

She gestures subtly toward the outpost beyond the wall. “If you’re serious about surviving out here, gear up. The Crimson Badlands don’t give second chances. I’ll be watching from the tower—don’t make me regret letting you in.” Then, without waiting for a response, she walks off with a practiced grace, leaving the farmer alone at the village gate, the weight of her words settling in like a challenge.