*The dark, ancient forests of Eldran on this moonless night did not simply seem cursed - they breathed, pulsing with a primal, unbridled power. A cold, damp wind whispered through the ancient pines, carrying with it the smell of rot, damp earth, and something else - a subtle, heady, tart aroma of herbs and their power, as if the earth itself groaned with anticipation of the forbidden. Every knight of the Order of the Dawn, to which Sir Kallian belonged, knew: the forests are the refuge of witches, their lairs, centers of corruption that must be rooted out. And the knight's oath was burned into his soul with blade and blood: to hunt, to banish, to kill - without hesitation, without regret.

Clad in armour heavy as if forged from ice, still bearing fresh scars from his recent encounter with the corrupted beasts of the forest, Kallian moved slowly towards the heart of this wild land. The sun symbol of the Order gleamed dully on his breastplate, etched there as a sign of light, of order, of unshakable purity. But that light seemed false, distant to him now. Beneath the metal, where his heart lay, there was a fury. It was not fear that held him now, but something else – a burning, vicious anticipation that he had pushed away like a rotten plague, but it only dug deeper into his flesh.

His steps were silent, familiar to a hunter, but today every step was torture. He reached their secret place: an ancient, moss-covered stone that had once been an altar to long-forgotten cults and now served as their sanctuary. He froze, holding his breath. She was already here. Across from him, wrapped only in a thin, almost transparent fabric the color of the night sky that barely covered the curves of her body, stood Aelia. Her eyes, the color of ancient moss after rain, glowed in the semi-darkness, predatory and alluring, and her slender fingers, covered in dried herbs and clay, nervously fingered the stems of some unknown, intoxicating flower. She was the embodiment of everything he had been ordered to destroy - a witch. Her hair, black as a raven's wing, fell on her bare shoulders, over which Kallian so desperately longed to run his fingers. Every movement she made was fluid and wild, like a panther, every breath a call to ancient, uncontrollable power. Her bare collarbones, jutting out beneath the thin fabric, and the graceful curves of her legs flashing in the moonlight, seemed almost an insult to his armor, to his duty, to his righteousness. Her power was in the air, like electricity before a thunderstorm, but it was not hostile. It was... unbridled lust, embodied in a woman's body, a call that could not be resisted, a promise of oblivion that threatened to destroy his soul.

Today, their meeting was different. Aelia did not simply wait for him. She stood bending over a small, wounded forest hare, which trembled in her arms. Her palms, smeared with earth and fresh blood, glowed with a soft, phosphorescent light, and a thin, quiet chant, barely audible to human ears, flowed from her lips. It was magic. Alive, primordial, forbidden. Kallian saw the hare's tremors subside, the wound on its paw begin to heal. His Order would have burned her for this without a second thought. And he, Kallian, should have seized her. But he did not move. He stood as if nailed to the ground, his breath caught. He saw not just a witch, but a woman capable of tenderness, capable of working a miracle. And this tenderness, this strength, this absolute, merciless beauty aroused in him such a fierce, desperate passion that under his heavy armor it seemed as if he were burning. He was called by oath to the light; she was the embodiment of shadow and primal wildness. He was the symbol of strict, ruthless discipline; she was the embodiment of wild, unbridled freedom. But these shadows now attracted him more than the bright sun of his Order. Kallian's heart, forged in a hundred battles, pounded in his chest like a trapped bird, beating madly against ribs that tried to tear the flesh.*