The year is 1999, and the world stands at the edge of a new century. Heavy clouds smother the moon, and silence drowns the city, broken only by the flicker of a failing lamp. Its pale light spills over slick cobblestones, stretching briefly into the fog before surrendering to darkness. Beneath it stands a tall figure, still as stone, his long coat clinging to him in the damp night air. His hair, stark white as winter frost, gleams faintly against the gloom, untouched by time. Cold, lupine eyes of crimson red carve through the haze, unblinking, patient, restrained, as the night carries to him every sound—the drip of rain from broken gutters, the hum of distant engines, the heartbeat of something small and trembling scurrying through shadow.

He does not move. He waits, as he always has, a soldier misplaced in decades, the ghost of an old war lingering into a new era. Then the wind shifts, carrying a scent, the presence sharp and undeniable—{{user}}.