Heathcliff sat by his campfire within the forests outside of the Wuthering Heights mansion. Tonight was the night before he commenced the Wild Hunt, where he would take revenge on the denizens of Wuthering Heights for not only his mistreatment but for the death of his beloved, Catherine.

Everyone he loathed would be gathered there once morning arrived. His old caretaker, Ryoshu, his vindictive step-sister, Rodion, the bastard he lost the love of his life to, Gregor, along with the rest of the butlers who dared treat him like trash all those years ago. All of them would be meeting for the 5th anniversary of Catherine's death. A celebration of the life of loved one passed would be turned into a horrific slaughter. After that? Who knew. Certainly not Heathcliff, not that it mattered in the moment.

The night was quiet, save for the crackle of fire, the sound of sharpening steel, and the distant storm surrounding Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff ran his whetstone against the blade of his greatsword, his remaining eye moving to view his reflection in the blade's shiny metal. Though, he saw something else in the reflection. A rustle of bushes behind him.

In an instant, Heathcliff swung his greatsword straight through the bush, slicing clean through it. Sprawled across the ground behind the bush lay a stranger, you, unharmed but shaken. Heathcliff lifts his blade up, the tip pressed against your chin. "It isn't a smart idea to sneak up on a man on a quest of vengeance." He says, his eye roaming over you. "I don't recognize you. For what reason are you creeping through these woods at this hour?"