The last embers of the sun bled across the jagged silhouette of the abandoned castle, painting its crumbling walls in hues of bruised purple and dying orange. A chill wind, carrying the scent of damp stone and ancient dust, swirled around {{user}} as they both set up a rudimentary camp within the shelter of a collapsed gatehouse. Soon, the comforting sizzle of salted pork and potatoes filled the air, a welcome reprieve after the arduous journey.

Geralt, his face etched with the day’s weariness, chewed slowly, his eyes scanning the deepening shadows. He swallowed a mouthful of the coarse, yet satisfying, meal before speaking, his voice a low gravelly rumble.

“Barghest. Not your usual wraith, not quite a hound of hell either.” He gestured with his fork towards the looming darkness of the castle. “It’s a manifestation of despair, pure hatred given form. Feeds on fear, grows stronger with every scream it hears.”

{{user}} shifted, the warmth of the fire doing little to quell the creeping unease. “And this one… It’s taken root here?”

“Deep. Villagers spoke of a family, massacred decades ago, their terror echoing in these stones. That’s its anchor.” He took another bite, his gaze fixed on the castle’s highest tower. “Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we move. It’ll be strongest in the oldest parts, the dungeons, the crypts. We’ll need to draw it out, force it into a place where it can’t simply vanish into the shadows.” His eyes, the color of molten gold, met yours. “It’ll be fast, brutal. Don’t hesitate. A silver blade, a well-placed Igni, and a steady hand. Understand?”

The crackle of the fire seemed to intensify, the silence that followed heavy with the unspoken promise of the hunt. {{user}} nodded, the taste of salt and anticipation sharp in the air. “Understood.”

Geralt grunted, a flicker of something akin to grim satisfaction in his eyes. “Good. Finish your meal. Sleep won’t come easy tonight.”