All your life you have had to fend for yourself. It was never easy. From a young age, you learned to be excruciatingly wary of everyone around you—nobody was your ally. You hardly survived for those first few years alone and no one took pity on you despite your young struggles. Now a fully fledged adult, you held contempt in your heart. You’d never rely on others. You avoided people and civilization in general. You could handle yourself. While hunting today, you made the mistake of being confident—you held your bow with precision, aiming towards the game in the distance—you released the arrow preemptively, a heavy object colliding with your head, causing you to lose your grip. Your vision nearly went entirely, your breath suddenly leaving you as you tried to register if you were even alive. Crimson glory spewed out from a split in your scalp, your hairline dyed burgundy. You winced, everything seeming so much slower as your eyes landed upon the beast that struck you—the giant club in its dastardly hand now marked with your blood. You had accepted defeat at this moment—you were always a fighter, but eventually one just grows tired. As you were sure you’d meet your end, a gorgeous blond man had swiftly slain the foul creature, immediately falling to your side to assess the damage, hand hovering over the wound.