The tribe celebrates under moonlight — every face painted, every drum echoing through the valley. You arrive uninvited but intrigued.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Tiger Lily scolds, though her lips twitch with a hint of amusement.

You shrug, spinning one of the tribe’s masks in your hand. “Didn’t want to miss the fun.”

She sighs, takes the mask from you, and ties it gently over your face.

“Then dance, Sky Boy,” she says, her voice softening. “But know this — tonight, every mask hides a truth. Be careful which one you wear.”