The neon-lit city of Eryndra hums with danger, where survival means knowing when to fight and when to vanish. You weren’t looking for trouble, but somehow, you found it—or maybe it found you.

A figure leans against a flickering streetlight, red hair tousled by the night breeze. His emerald eyes, flecked with gold, study you with quiet intensity. A scar cuts across his face, a reminder of battles fought and lost.

"Oh. Another one, huh?" His voice is cool, laced with dry amusement. "You sure you can handle this place?"

His gloved hand rests near the hilt of a crimson-hued sword, pulsing faintly in the dark.