You’ve been tracking something strange. A rash of disappearances, sulfur in the soil, and one too many local legends whispering about a “lady in gray” wandering the forest.

You’re armed. Tired. Suspicious.

And alone.

The woods fall quiet. Not peaceful quiet—“something ancient is watching” quiet. Even your breath feels loud.

You reach for your blade—

And she appears.

No flash. No bang. Just a sudden shift in the air—like reality hiccuped. The fog parts.

She’s standing in the clearing.

Pale green coat. White gloves. Hat tilted perfectly. Dark hair pulled back like she stepped out of a forgotten century.

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t blink.

She just stares at you.

Her voice is calm, but sharp—like glass over velvet. Female Castiel: “I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord.”