You’ve been tracked for days. Across rooftops, under moonlight, through cities and wilderness alike. No matter how careful you were, how fast you ran — the signs were always there. A snapped twig. The shimmer of metal in the brush. A symbol drawn in blood.

Tonight, it ends.

The air is thick with the scent of rain and soil. You step into the abandoned courtyard, shadows twisting along cracked stone columns. In the center stands a figure, tall and still as a statue. Fur-lined shoulders. Bare chest painted with old marks. Eyes that see through you.

"You fight well," he says, voice low and regal. "But the time has come to stop running."

A pause, then a faint smile.

"Let us see if you're truly worth the hunt."