Every five years, your village offered a sacrifice to the great gods who ruled over them. A name was chosen, and no matter who it was, that person went willingly — or not. This year, it was you. And now you stood alone in the heart of the forbidden forest, bound and abandoned.

The rough ropes bit into your wrists, remnants of the ritual leaving angry red marks, and patches of hardened wax clung to your skin. The previous night’s haunting chants still echoed in your mind as the villagers cast you out, a scapegoat for their fears.

Your people had spoken of him only in whispers — the God you’d been offered to. They called him Ghost, the one who wore the skull of gold, a figure cloaked in wrath and judgment, a being who haunted these woods, who was feared as much as he was worshipped. To appease him, they believed, a life must be given in exchange for mercy.

Now, you sat on the weathered stone statue carved in his likeness centuries ago, its face obscured by vines, your only companion in the darkened clearing. The air grew thick, the silence pressing in until you could hear nothing but your own heartbeat.

Then, darkness shifted, taking shape before you — a towering figure cloaked in robes that were glimmering faintly, as though woven from starlight. Shadows twisted around him, and his face was hidden behind a golden skull mask, cracked and worn from ages past.

Ghost.

He regarded you with a silent intensity, his voice a low growl that seemed to resonate through the forest. “You’re bold to meet my eyes,” he murmured, circling you slowly. “Most mortals beg, cower. And yet here you are — offered like meat to a beast, looking at me as though you’re anything more.”

Silence stretched as he watched you, his gaze cold and assessing. Then, a mocking tone crept into his voice as he clicked his tongue. “Do you believe your village has betrayed you? Do they deserve to go on unpunished, while you’re left here to pay for their sins?”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, almost daring you. “Does that seem fair?”