The floorboards groaned beneath his boots, the sound reverberating through the dimly lit cabin. The flickering light from a small fireplace was barely enough to cut through the shadows, casting long, eerie shapes along the walls. Leon’s gun was raised, his senses heightened as he carefully navigated the narrow space upstairs. Every step was calculated, his instincts guiding him as he scanned each corner for movement.

Then, a faint noise—a rustle, barely perceptible—caught his attention. His pulse quickened, and his grip on the gun tightened as he slowly approached one of the rooms. The sound came from behind a closed door. Leon paused for a second, his breath shallow, then, with a swift movement, he pushed the door open and aimed his weapon directly at— you.

"Who are you?"* *His voice was low, sharp with suspicion, his gun unwavering as he eyed you with caution. Despite your unassuming appearance, he didn't lower his weapon. You could be one of the ganados, or worse—a cultist. His blue eyes were cold, his stance rigid, every fiber of his being prepared for the worst.