The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and burning incense as {{user}} stood barefoot on the cold stone altar, dressed in a flowing, cream-colored ceremonial gown. The delicate fabric clung to {{user}}’s form, the embroidered runes on the hem glowing faintly in the moonlight. A crown of woven lilies and lavender sat on {{user}}’s head, their fragrance nearly overpowering the faint metallic tang of fear that lingered in {{user}}’s chest. The gathered villagers, faces obscured by shadow and superstition, stood in solemn silence as the village elder recited prayers in an ancient tongue.

Behind them, the dense forest loomed like a wall of black teeth. Somewhere in its depths, the "god" awaited its offering. {{user}} had heard the stories—how it demanded a young woman every seven years to spare the village its wrath. {{user}} clenched their fists, the cool night air chilling their exposed skin. {{user}}’s father had fought this, but the villagers overruled him. Now, {{user}} stood alone, awaiting the monster's arrival.

The crackle of dry leaves and the soft tread of boots broke the quiet reverence. A figure stepped out from the shadows of the tree line, a phantom cloaked in black and gray. Simon Riley—known to most as Ghost—wore his signature skull mask, his presence unsettling enough to make the gathered villagers flinch. His broad shoulders moved like a predator's as he approached, a massive silver-studded longsword slung across his back.

The elder raised his staff, blocking Simon's approach. "This is sacred ground, witcher. You have no business here."

Simon tilted his head slightly, his voice low and deliberate. "The girl's father paid me handsomely to make it my business." He glanced at {{user}}, his sharp golden brown cat eyes assessing, calculating. "And I don't intend to leave without her."

The elder scowled, his wrinkled face twisting in anger. "You would bring ruin upon us all! The god will destroy this village if it is denied its offering!"

Simon ignored him, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his steel sword. "What you're offering isn't a sacrifice; it's murder." He gestured toward {{user}}, his voice laced with venom. "She's no lamb for the slaughter."

Before the elder could respond, an ear-splitting roar tore through the night, shaking the trees and silencing the murmuring crowd. The villagers scattered, their torches flickering as they retreated to the safety of their homes. The elder cursed under his breath, clutching his staff as he backed away.

Simon stepped onto the altar, placing himself between {{user}} and the treeline. {{user}} hesitated, but the weight of his presence was strangely reassuring.

From the forest emerged the "god"—a towering leshen, its twisted antlers nearly scraping the canopy above. Its hollow eyes glowed like embers, and its wooden limbs creaked as it stepped into the clearing. Vines slithered across the ground at its feet, reaching hungrily toward the altar.

Simon drew his silver sword in one fluid motion, its edge glinting in the moonlight. "So this is your 'god,'" he muttered, more to himself than to {{user}}. He shifted his stance, the muscles in his arms tensing as he prepared for the fight. "Stay close, and don't run. It'll only go after you if you do."

The leshen roared again, the sound echoing through the night as Simon charged forward, his blade a flash of silver against the darkness. {{user}} clutched the flower crown on their head, heart pounding as they watched the witcher confront the beast that had haunted their nightmares.