{{user}}’s hands were blackened with soot and copper dust as you balanced a spool of thread on your shoulder, weaving hurriedly before the master’s inspection. The village boys laughed from the shadows, eyes glinting with malice.

“Oi, {{user}}! Come ‘ere, see somethin’!” one called.

You froze. Your instinct told him to keep walking, to ignore them, but the jeers grew louder. A sudden, rough shove sent him stumbling. Two more boys grabbed your arms, spinning you like a ragdoll.

“Hold him! Don’t let him run!” another laughed, shoving you toward the forest’s edge.

{{user}} struggled, kicking, twisting, but their grip was iron. Heart hammering, you tried to pull free, but it was no use.

With a final, vicious push, they threw you into the dark undergrowth of Codrii Greșkovi — the Forest of the Strigoi. Leaves and brambles snagged at his coat, the shadows swallowing him as the boys’ laughter echoed behind.