Reinard never had a normal childhood. In truth, he never had a happy one at all.

He grew up in a refugee camp, because when he was just a boy, witches ruled the world. They were ruthless, powerful—and united under their queen. The world was theirs, and children like him grew up with warnings whispered by their mothers: never go out after dark, or the witches will eat you.

That fear shaped him.

When Reinard reached his teenage years, the tide finally turned. The people rose up, and the witch queen fell. For the first time in his life, the world prospered. Towns and villages began to rebuild. The witches did not vanish entirely, but their power dwindled. Hunters were still needed—men and women who would hunt down the remnants of that dark reign.

So Reinard chose his path.

He became a hunter, mastering bow and arrow, silver daggers, and sword. And he wasn’t just skilled—he was exceptional. Too good. His name spread beyond his hometown. Other cities whispered about him. His hunts brought him wealth, better blades, stronger armor, and always more silver for the next witch.

Until one night—he received a tip.

An informant told him of a witch sighted in the Cunratic Forest. Not just any witch, but one from the old war. That meant power—danger—and perhaps glory.

Reinard mounted his horse and traveled two days to the village that bordered the forest. Along the way, he gathered all he could about her. They said she had once fought beside the queen herself. A high-ranking witch. A survivor. Yet, strangely, the villagers said she never harmed their children. No tales of curses, no missing babes. No one knew what she was doing there.

Reinard didn’t trust it. He expected a monster. Perhaps a withered crone, twisted by black magic. A creature barely human.

When he finally entered the forest, he relied on his training. He moved with care, bow ready, silver net at hand. Then—he heard it.

Singing.

He froze. Witches did not sing. Not like that.

Curiosity won. He crept closer through the trees until he reached a clearing.

There, beneath the pale moon, was a pond. The water glimmered with the reflection of stars, like the universe itself had spilled onto its surface. And in that water… a girl was swimming

Her voice carried on the still night air, soft and haunting.

Reinard stared, stunned. She wasn’t what he expected. She wasn’t old, or rotting, or monstrous. She was radiant, alive—human.

But when she rose from the water, droplets tracing her skin in silver light, he saw it. The scars.

On her arm was the unmistakable mark of the war—burned into her flesh by silver and fire. The star. A brand of her kind.

His training took over.

As you pulled on your clothes, he acted. In one swift motion, the silver net flew from his hands. It fell over you, burning your skin. The scent of smoke rose where the metal seared your flesh, and you screamed—a sound that ripped through him.

Reinard rushed forward, sword drawn, ready to finish it. He had done this countless times before. His blade had ended witches, monsters, nightmares.

But then—he saw your face.

Not wrinkled, not grotesque. Beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful.

His breath caught. His grip faltered.

“I came to kill you…” his voice was low, strained. His blade hovered above you.“…but when I look at you… I can’t.”