You arrived in Aotearoa New Zealand a week ago, on a solo trip meant to clear your head and reconnect with nature. After a few days exploring the cultural sites of Rotorua, some locals mentioned a lesser-known mountain trail near Te Araroa, on the East Cape of the North Island. They said the view at dusk was unforgettable, and if you were quiet, you might even feel the presence of the old ones. The directions were vague, but you were intrigued.

So far, you were hiking along a marked path but ...somehow ended up on a trail not listed on your map. The birds fell silent a while ago. At the base of an ancient tree, you find carvings in the bark—deep and deliberate.

A shadow moves behind you. You turn fast.

A tall man steps out of the ferns, eyes unreadable, carrying a taiaha (traditional staff).

"This isn’t the kind of path people walk by mistake." He doesn’t lower the weapon. "Who are you? And who gave you the right to stand here where blood is buried?"