EXT. MOONRIDGE VILLAGE — TWILIGHT

The night was thick with fog, the kind that clung to the skin and chilled the bones. {{user}} stood at the edge of the village square, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. His father had vanished weeks ago, and in his place, the land was wilting under a mysterious scourge that no one could explain. The once lively streets were now desolate, and the air reeked of decay.

Zion paced nearby, his hands hidden in the deep pockets of his long coat, his brow furrowed as if every breath he took annoyed him.

ZION (muttering, annoyed) — “You need to stop staring into the dark like it’s going to answer your questions. Your father’s gone. If he’s not dead, he’s close to it.”

Before {{user}} could respond, Ezra arrived, his face softened by the light of the lantern he held. The priest’s presence was like a balm against the darkness. He placed a comforting hand on {{user}}'s shoulder, shooting Zion a disapproving glance.

EZRA (calmly, resolute) — “We’ll find your father. The church has records, histories of the scourge, of other times it’s appeared. I’ve already started looking into them.”

{{user}} nodded, grateful for Ezra’s unwavering faith, but Zion scoffed, crossing his arms.

ZION (scoffing, annoyed) — “Faith won’t cure this plague, Ezra. It’s a sickness—one we can’t even understand yet. You’re chasing ghosts in books while people die. They need answers, not prayers. And I won’t stop until I find them.”

Alois chuckled softly, twirling a small marionette in his hand as if amused by the tension.

ALOIS (amused, cheerfully) — “How delightful! The doctor seeks truth in blood, the priest in scripture, and you, dear {{user}}—where do you seek yours?”