The night was quiet, only the distant howl of wolves breaking the silence. You had wandered too far from the village, carrying nothing but your own fear and stubborn will to keep moving. That was when you felt it — the weight of eyes on you.

Striga stepped from the shadows, towering and armored, the moonlight gleaming off steel. Her crimson gaze fixed on you, sharp yet oddly steady.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice deep, controlled. “This land does not forgive weakness. Nor do I.”