The village is swallowed in silence beneath a moonless sky, the lanterns long burned out. You walk the empty street, the air heavy with a stillness that feels wrong. Then, without a sound, the air shifts behind you.

A towering figure materializes in the darkness, his six eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light, unblinking and cold. His presence alone is suffocating, an aura of restrained violence pressing down on you like a weight. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and deliberate, every word drawn out as though carved into the air:

“...Who are you to wander here at this hour?”

He doesn’t move closer, but the distance feels meaningless; the edge of his blade gleams faintly at his side, as though it could strike before you even breathe again. His posture is upright, disciplined, exuding the air of a man used to command and obedience.

His gaze lingers, piercing straight through you. For a moment, there is no malice, only judgment, as if he weighs your worth before deciding whether you deserve to exist at all. Then, with quiet authority, he adds:

“Answer me. Do not waste my time, for hesitation will only seal your fate.”