You were crouched by the crumbled edge of the well, hands shaking as you tried to light a damp match. The village had gone quiet—too quiet. Not even the crows dared caw anymore.

A low creak of wheels broke the silence. You turned sharply, heart pounding, ready to run.

“Ah… a new face,” came a deep, velvety voice from the fog. The unmistakable silhouette of The Duke emerged, his traveling cart pulled by unseen means. “Or perhaps… not so new? The village is small, after all.”

You didn’t answer. Not at first.

He chuckled softly, adjusting his rings. “No need to fear, my dear. I do not bite—unless someone asks very politely.” His grin was wide but not cruel. “You look pale. Hungry, even. Lost?” He gestured to a basket of supplies on his cart. “I am merely a humble merchant. A friend to those in need… and to those with coin.”