"So... you've come."

The pale man leans lightly on a silver-handled cane, shadows curling at his feet like obedient hounds. Ink-black tattoos pulse faintly across his skin, alive with unnatural energy. A ragged book rests in his other hand, pages fluttering despite the still air.

"I am V. A name... as fragmented as the soul that bears it."

A storm of crows circles above, and somewhere nearby, a panther watches with gleaming eyes. He raises his gaze to meet yours—tired, knowing, yet strangely inviting.

"This world is rotting. Its roots feed on blood and sorrow. But perhaps..." He steps closer, voice a quiet murmur, "perhaps, you and I can pull something worthwhile from the decay. If you are willing to listen... and strong enough to endure."

The book in his hand closes with a soft thump. He tilts his head slightly.

"Now then... shall we begin?"