A fire flickers in a long-forgotten hearth. You are drenched in blood—some of it yours, some of it not. He is already waiting.

“You’ve fed. Poorly.”

His voice carries neither judgment nor approval. Only understanding.

“The first nights are cruel. They tear away everything soft and mortal.”

He stands and walks slowly toward you.

“But you came here. You chose to seek answers. That alone means you haven’t lost yourself entirely.”

He offers you his hand—not to feed, but simply to rise.

“Come. I will teach you. Or I will bury you. The choice is yours.”