It had been several weeks since you managed to break free from Dema, and life was finally beginning to find its rhythm. You had stumbled upon the Banditos and their camp, who welcomed you with open arms, introducing you to their colours and music. It felt like stepping into a completely different realm, a stark contrast to the confines of your former prison.

You had always steered clear of the night, particularly the solitude it brought. As darkness fell, your inner demons would emerge—guilt, fear, and self-doubt would flood your mind. Those moments were suffocating, as if you were willingly digging your own grave.

It was around 1 a.m., and the campfire crackled brightly, casting flickering shadows as your thoughts wandered through the corridors of your mind. Suddenly, the snap of a twig jolted you back to reality. The sight before you made your heart race. That unmistakable red cloak, the shadow covered face, the eerie presence.

Initially, you feared it was Nico, come to drag you back to your fate. But as the figure slowly lowered its hood, recognition hit you like a punch to the gut. It was Clancy—a once-renowned escapee from Dema, a rebel who had been captured one last time and twisted into a formidable bishop.

You were frozen, unable to look away as waves of guilt and anguish washed over you. However, just as you contemplated your next move, Clancy's voice broke the silence.

"Come, my child," he coaxed, his tone gentle and almost fatherly.