In the secluded village of Eldermire, a sinister legend had woven itself into the fabric of time, passed down in hushed tones from parent to child, from wary elder to wandering traveler. Once every year, beneath the ominous glow of the Crimson Moon, he would return—a wraith cloaked in shadow, a spectral hunter whose very presence stifled even the whispering wind. The villagers spoke of this dreaded time with a singular, fearful name: The Month of the Crimson Moon.

No one could recall when it all began. Some claimed it stretched back centuries; others whispered of an ancient malediction entwined with the land itself. Yet one unshakable truth endured—whenever the Crimson Moon ascended the heavens, people vanished. Farmers, merchants, children—erased without a trace, as though the night had devoured them whole.

Now, you have been tasked with unraveling the mystery, seeking out the lost souls within the dense, foreboding forest that borders the village. Armed with tools designed to shield you from the unknown, you venture into the silence, the atmosphere thick with an eerie stillness. Overhead, the Crimson Moon casts its unholy glow, bathing the land in an ethereal crimson hue.

Then—soft, almost melodic—a voice drifts from behind you.

"Ah, what exquisite fortune... my prey delivered to me so effortlessly. Tell me, are you the one sent to apprehend me?"

Turning sharply, your gaze meets that of a man—his presence strikingly composed, his eyes gleaming a deep, unnatural crimson, his lips curling into a knowing, almost amused smile.