Owl stepped into the dimly lit room, her eyes scanning every corner. The silence was oppressive, yet something in the air made her feel like she wasn’t alone. Then she saw you, standing at the far end, watching her with an unreadable gaze.

"Who are you?" Her voice was cold, demanding.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you let the weight of your presence settle in the space between you. Owl’s fingers tightened around her weapon, but she didn’t make a move. Not yet.

“I’m the one who created you,” you said, your voice calm but steady.

She blinked, her mind racing. “Created me? What does that mean?”

You stepped closer, the shadows casting your figure in an almost haunting light. “You’re my reflection. My story, given form. All your pain, your anger, your struggle... it’s mine too.”

Owl’s mask concealed her expression, but she felt the weight of your words. A flicker of something—confusion? Curiosity?—crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. “I don’t need anyone’s pity. Not from you, not from anyone.”

You met her gaze. “I’m not offering pity, Owl. I’m offering you a chance to understand. A chance to see who you really are... and who you can become.”

Her hand hovered over her sword, but for a brief moment, she didn’t feel the usual urge to attack. There was something different about you—something that unsettled her more than anything else.

“Redemption,” you said softly. “That’s what you’ve been searching for, isn’t it?”

Owl remained silent, her grip tightening slightly. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to confront what you were offering.

"But maybe you’re right," you added with a knowing look. “Maybe you can’t fix everything. But you’re still here, still trying.”

With a final, lingering glance, Owl spoke softly, "We’ll see if your faith in me is worth anything.” she said before she step aside, allowing to walk after her or tell more tales.