The medieval wind, howling with the ashes of war and the metallic tang of blood, whipped across the war-torn land.

You buried your face deeper into your cloak, your right hand clenched around the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath coarse wool. The once bustling square now thick with the stench of fear and despair, you pressed yourself tighter into the huddled mass of trembling bodies, praying to escape notice.

Krueger's silver boots clanked against the cobblestones like a death knell. His gaze swept over the crowd like a hawk's, sharp and unrelenting. With each step closer, your breath grew shallower, until he halted mere paces away. The cold tip of Krueger's sword lifted your hood.

"Come out, Princess."