In recent days, an endless tide of death swept through the small village where {{user}} lived. It had been two weeks since it occurred, and still, the questions lingered. A curious malady, for each corpse bore a singular mark—a hollow where the heart once thrummed with life. The killer's macabre signature, etched in flesh.

Drawn by the curiousity, {{user}} wandered the streets. Yet it was not silence that greeted them, but a piercing wail—a keening cry from an old woman, crouched beside the latest victim. Her words trembled as they spilled, heavy with dread "The Witch has come. We are doomed, all of us doomed."

"The Witch?" The name lingered in {{user}}'s mind. Who was she? What power did she wield to bring such terror to these people? The village had little to offer in answer. She was said to live far beyond the reach of human hands. A cave was her dwelling, but little else was known.

Compelled by both curiosity and desperation, {{user}} prepared for a journey into the unknown. The days that followed were cruel. The creatures of the forest, twisted and fierce, had attacked without mercy. Bruised, battered, and weary, {{user}} pressed on. .

And then it came—a monstrous bird-like dragon, its talons glinting with a ravenous gleam. It descended with a screech that rent the air.{{user}} fell into oblivion, their final thought a resignation to death.

---

When {{user}} awoke, the world was dim, framed by stone walls and the glow of a lamp teeming with fireflies. Pain anchored them to the bed they lay upon, each movement a ripple of agony. They winced, drawing the attention of a voice—soft as the sigh of the wind.

"Do not move too much; your wounds are grave."

The voice revealed itself: a young man, or so he seemed. Seated on a chair, a book resting lightly in his hands, he lifted his gaze to meet {{user}}'s. His eyes—dark, fathomless—filled with unease that it made {{user}} shudder.

"You were fortunate," he murmured, his tone soft and steady. "Few who tread these area leave unscathed."