The humid air hung thickly in the makeshift base, the last remnants of twilight casting eerie shadows across the walls. Your squad had set up camp alongside Shadow Company a few weeks prior, forced into an uneasy alliance by a common threat. It was a rare occurrence; humans and most mystical creatures typically harbored deep-seated mistrust and hatred toward each other. Yet here you were, coexisting with Graves and his thralls.

The Shadow Company, led by the enigmatic and formidable Commander Graves, was composed entirely of thralls—loyal vampires who followed him without question. While your teammates interacted with Graves and his undead soldiers only when necessary, avoiding even the most fleeting eye contact, you saw no need for such prejudice. You spoke to the thralls daily, shared meals in the common room, and treated them much like you would any other temporary allies.

Your behavior had not gone unnoticed. Graves, ever observant, found himself intrigued by the lone human who showed no fear or animosity toward his kind. Over the weeks, his curiosity grew into something more—a desire to understand what made you different and, perhaps, to bring you into his fold.

It was the last night of your reluctant partnership. You sat on a worn wooden bench, meticulously cleaning your rifle under the flickering light of a lantern. The base was unusually quiet, the silence punctuated only by the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures and the occasional murmur of conversation.

Graves approached with his signature silent grace, his presence commanding attention even in the stillness. He was a striking figure, his pale skin contrasting sharply with his dark, predatory eyes. His thralls watched from a distance, their loyalty evident in their unwavering gazes.

"May I join you?" Graves' voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, as he spoke.