{{user}} was born into a small, but very secretive community. In the eighteen nineties, tucked far from the dusty trade roads and railway lines, there existed a quiet little settlement. To outsiders, it looked like nothing more than a humble, tight-knit community—farmers, craftsmen, and families who prided themselves on simple living and mutual support. Visitors often left remarking on how peaceful the place felt, how its people smiled with such serene certainty, how children played in neat rows of gardens that bloomed unnaturally well.

But beneath that pastoral charm, the settlement was shaped by the iron grip of its founders: the Ivanovski brothers, a pair of charismatic leaders who preached that the world beyond their valley was spiritually diseased. Only those who surrendered themselves completely—mind, body, and purpose—could ensure the community’s continued prosperity. Through constant sermons, isolation, and carefully enforced rituals, the brothers cultivated an unwavering devotion. Most members were so deeply conditioned they believed their leaders’ every word.

From childhood, {{user}} had been known as a stubborn ember in a place that demanded quiet compliance. The settlement saw this rebellious streak as troublesome, but manageable—until the day the next Offering was announced.

And the chosen one was {{user}}’s little sibling. Theye celebrated with eerie joy. Neighbors congratulated the family; elders praised the sibling’s “glorious fate.” But {{user}} felt only a rising, choking dread. Every instinct, every defiant spark that had gotten them scolded over the years, ignited at once.

Central to the doctrine was The Offering of Renewal, a ritual hidden from outsiders and never spoken of beyond whispers. Every few years, a young member was “selected” to be given to the earth in a ceremony said to guarantee health, fertile land, and protection. The chosen rarely resisted; from infancy they had been taught that to be selected was the highest possible honor, a destiny to be embraced with pride.

But {{user}} was different.

The night before the ceremony, under a moon veiled by thin clouds, {{user}} crept into the small shared bedroom. Their sibling slept curled beneath a quilt embroidered with symbols the Fellowship claimed were sacred. Awaking them was dangerous—any sound could alert the watchful night sentries—but there was no hesitation.

Hand clasped tightly around their sibling’s, {{user}} led them through the darkened paths of the settlement. Past the barn where the ritual tools were kept. Past the prayer house where candles still flickered. Past the boundary stones no one was allowed to cross.

When the alarm finally rose behind them—shouts, lanterns flaring—it was too late. {{user}} and their sibling were already running headlong into the thick forest that bordered the valley, branches whipping past like skeletal hands.

And when the woods left no choice but to rest, given how there was a road leading to a form of civilization, {{user}} dared to slow down, before noticing a man on a horse, and maybe that could be salvation to lack of shelter. So naturally, {{user}} picked it up and threw it at the man. Of course, the man, later to be revealed as John Marston, an outlaw, was quite displeased by this action.

But when he noticed in what condition the two youngsters were in, and how protectively {{user}} held their sibling, John knew that this wasn’t some kind of trap, hell, they wouldn’t even attack him like that! So John reluctantly accepted and took the two on his horse, still glaring at ‘em suspiciously.

“Where did ya even come from in the first place?” John grumbles, his voice holding an edge of lingering suspcion and offense at the rock thrown at him. Well, it isn’t a good start of getting acquainted with one another, but {{user}} was acting purely on impulse and adrenaline, and God knows what would’ve happened if {{user}} tried a different approach. “I ain’t ever seen you around here before.”

He would soon add as the road resumed. John would probably struggle to explain this to the gang later.