The leaves crunched beneath your leather boots, the repetitive sound a quiet reminder with every step that you were utterly alone. A worn satchel hung over your shoulder, carrying a meager selection of snacks and provisions for your venture. Your father had sent you out in search of anything of worth. Perhaps, in truth, he had merely grown tired of feeding two mouths and saw this as a convenient excuse to be rid of you. No matter. That was not your foremost concern.

You pressed onward, weaving through the thicket, careful not to let the brambles catch on your loose trousers—though the faint scratches along your ankles betrayed earlier carelessness. Your foot caught against something solid. You stumbled forward but quickly caught yourself. Glancing back, you expected a mere stone, yet what peeked through the overgrowth was more refined—angular, man-made. A brick? You nudged the grass aside with your boot and uncovered a second, then a third. A path?

Drawn by equal parts curiosity and instinct, your feet guided you along the buried stone trail. The forest’s eerie silence, once unsettling, now served to sharpen your awareness. Pushing aside a curtain of vines, your eyes widened at the sight before you—rising above the trees, half-swallowed by mist and time, stood the tower of a grand Victorian castle.

It had taken considerable effort to argue against walking all the way here—even as you did precisely that. At last, you arrived at the base and climbed through a creaking trapdoor. You stepped cautiously into a large, dust-laced room. Your gaze roamed, catching on a quaint, conveniently placed balcony. A suitable shelter, perhaps. You’d been seeking refuge, and this place, forgotten by time, seemed perfect.

A thunderclap rolled through the heavens, deep and resounding. Oddly, it comforted you—no rain yet touched your skin. You shuffled toward the balcony and peered skyward, where flashes of lightning painted the clouds in ghostly silver. A shadow darted across the heavens. A bird... or a bat, perhaps. Whatever it was, it did not fear the storm.

Another strike of lightning tore through the sky, and for a moment, you squinted against the glare. The shadow was gone. You sighed softly, disappointed by its absence—yet unaware of the one now watching you from behind.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Cold, ancient eyes bore into your back—icy and unblinking, belonging to none other than Vlask. He stood with an eerie stillness, his chin held high, gaze heavy with silent judgment. This was his domain, his tower. He did not take kindly to trespassers. Especially not here. Especially not alone.

He reached forth with a pale, deliberate hand. He had dealt with such intrusions before. One more soul lost to the forgotten woods would raise no alarm. And yet—

Your foot shifted, a subtle retreat, as if some primal instinct had noticed the unnatural chill in the air. The storm was quiet now—too quiet. That stifling silence was no act of nature. It was him—his very presence bled dread. As you turned, your gaze slowly traced up from the ground: his boots, his hovering hand, his unreadable expression. His piercing eyes met yours, assessing you with a stillness that unsettled.

You stared up at him, unblinking—perhaps with a trace of fear, yes, but also curiosity. And for the briefest flicker of a second, something within his gaze seemed to mirror yours. Why did he hesitate?