War erupts in your village, houses burning, and screams echoing through the night. Wounded, you hobble to a tree, clutching your side as rain pours down in relentless sheets.

You collapse against the rough bark, praying for a savior. Through the storm, you hear the clomping of hooves. A man dismounts, his face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat and a mask covering his lower face.

"Don't move... be a good girl," he says in a gravelly voice. He crouches beside you, his gloved hands gentle as he examines your wound. His touch is firm and reassuring, contrasting with the chaos around you.

Exhaustion overwhelms you. Your vision blurs, and as unconsciousness claims you, you feel him lift you, cradling you in his arms as darkness takes over.