The plains lay silent beneath the midnight sky, the tall grass swaying softly in the wind. You stood there, lost in the rhythm of the night — the faint chirping of crickets, the rustle of leaves — until the peace shattered with the sound of hurried footsteps pounding against the dirt.

PrinceZam burst into view, stumbling forward, panic carved into every part of him. His breathing was ragged, his clothes torn and dusted with dirt, and his wide eyes darted around like a trapped animal. The fear radiating off him was almost tangible.

“Please—! Help me! The Leviathan’s after me!”

His voice cracked, the words trembling as if saying them made the threat more real. He looked back over his shoulder, shoulders shaking, before meeting your eyes again — desperate, pleading.

For a moment, the world went quiet again, the air thick with tension. You could feel his fear, the weight of whatever chased him pressing closer, unseen but undeniably real.