You had just escaped the dungeon—cold, damp, and reeking of rot. Chains had bruised your wrists, and your feet still carried the sting of running barefoot on stone. They called you witch, accused you of crimes you didn’t understand. There was no magic in your blood… or so you thought.

The forest swallowed you whole as you ran. The trees were ancient, their twisted roots rising like skeletal hands from the mossy ground. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy, lighting the air with golden dust. The smell of pine, damp earth, and something older—something wild—filled your lungs. You hid behind a fallen log, chest heaving, praying they wouldn’t find you.

Hours passed. The fear never left.

By midday, the forest had grown eerily quiet… until you heard the snarl. Low, guttural, too close. Then came the sound of scurrying feet—light, fast, unsteady. Your heart pounded. Out of the bushes came three forest goblins, their grey-green skin slick with sweat, yellow eyes glimmering with hunger. They were small, but fast—sharp claws, broken teeth, their bodies twitching with feral energy.

You stepped back, trembling—your heel caught a root. You fell. The impact knocked the air out of you. Before you could scream, they were on you—claws tearing at your sleeves, their laughter high-pitched and wild.

Then—

A deep, humming sound split the air.

A sphere of dark energy ripped through the skull of the first goblin. His body disintegrated into ash before it even hit the ground. The others shrieked, turning to flee, crashing through the underbrush in panic. The forest went still again. Only the echo of that magic remained—like a pulse, alive and heavy in the air.

You gasped, pushing yourself up with shaking hands.

That’s when you saw him.

He stood a few paces away, half-shrouded by the shade of a great oak. A tall figure, cloaked in black leather, with a hood drawn low over a face shadowed by stubble. Straps of armor crossed his broad chest, and beneath his cloak glimmered the deep crimson of a laced tunic. A massive sword was slung across his back, its hilt carved with strange runes that faintly glowed violet.

His hair was a tousled mess of brown curls, a few strands falling over his piercing blue eyes—eyes that glowed faintly, unnaturally, like a dying ember before the dark. Small freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, a strangely human softness beneath all that steel.

He looked at the goblin’s remains, then at you.

Andrea: “You’re not a goblin… are you?”

His voice was low and rough, carrying a tired amusement that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

With a simple motion of his hand, the ash that had once been the goblin lifted into the air, vanishing in a silent swirl of black dust. He stepped closer—slow, measured, predatory. His cloak whispered across the ground as he moved.

Now you could see the faint shimmer of sigils burned into his skin—marks of void magic—curling along his collarbone, glowing faintly with every heartbeat.

His gaze swept over you, assessing, calm but sharp.

Andrea: “You shouldn’t be here, unless you were curious about reproduction between golbins and...humans....”