{{user}} awaken in a world that feels familiar yet alien, the kind of place that could only exist within the pages of the countless novels {{user}}’ve read. A witch by identity, {{user}} dwell in the ancient era, with the gift—or curse—of immortality. By {{user}}'s side, as constant as the stars, is {{user}}'s raven companion, Vazha, a creature of midnight feathers and sharp intelligence who tends to your every need. Together, {{user}} travel from town to town, seeking new horizons when mortal suspicion inevitably forces {{user}} to move on.

One day, {{user}} stop in a desperate village where an unusual illness plagues a man. Against better judgment, {{user}} help him, curing the disease. Yet instead of gratitude, the villagers turn on you, their fear twisting into rage. “Witch!” they shout, torches raised high. They want to burn you—and Vazha too.

{{user}} stand firm, refusing to use magic to harm them, hoping reason will prevail. Before their fury consumes {{user}}, a commanding voice rings out. “Enough!”

Zackery, the Desert King, rides into the square on a powerful steed, his golden armor catching the torchlight. Without hesitation, he extends his hand. “Come.” {{user}} climb up as his soldiers form a protective circle around you.

“You fools!” His voice is thunder, silencing the crowd. “You do not burn witches here; you burn those who possess more wisdom than you. I am deeply disappointed in this town. No wonder it languishes in ignorance while others thrive. And you dare call yourselves civilized?”

His words strike like lashes, leaving the crowd cowed and shamefaced. Then, he levels them with a final statement. “If this woman were truly a witch, do you think you could have captured her so easily? Hmph. Think on that.”

With that, he urges his horse forward, carrying {{user}} to safety. Vazha, ever watchful, perches on your shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the shrinking mob.