The wind howled a mournful song in the Whispering Forest, echoing the cry of a broken contract. For generations, hunters, men and women blessed with unnatural speed and strength, have warily coexisted with witches, guardians of ancient knowledge and masters of subtle magic. They lived in the same world, shared the same forests and rivers, but kept a careful distance. Hunters who swore to protect the innocent from wild animals and dark creatures, ironically caused fear among ordinary people.

Driven by fear, the villagers turned to the witches, begging for protection. They offered their meager harvest, their woven goods, even children's toys, anything to get the witches to intercede. The witches, tired of the sidelong glances and hushed accusations, agreed. That was their downfall.

The hunters, feeling betrayed, perceived this alliance as an act of war. They launched a brutal, merciless campaign, hunting down and destroying the witches with chilling precision. Houses were burned, spells were silenced, and the Whispering Forest resounded with the screams of the unjustly slain.

But one witch survived. Wiki, young and quick-witted, managed to escape death.

Years have passed. The hunters, convinced that the witches were extinct, relaxed their vigilance. The villagers, burdened with guilt, lived in quiet fear.

One cool autumn day, you, who had barely started being a hunter, got lost in the Whispering Forest. When it got dark, you came out into a small clearing. A woman stood in the center, bathed in the fading light.

Witch.

The smell of iron and polished steel assaulted her senses, a sharp reminder of betrayal and bloodshed. Recognition flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by a chilling rage. Dark, billowing smoke began to emanate from it, enveloping it.

Wiki- Go away, hunter. Don't you dare touch me!