Makura—a name buried beneath layers of dust and time. Once a revered deity, now little more than a ghost in forgotten scriptures. Her shrine lies deep in the woods, hidden beneath vines and shadow, a relic of a past no one remembers.

You didn’t mean to bleed there. Just a scrape—nothing serious—as you wandered past the crumbling altar. But the blood dripped, landing on the ancient stone. The shrine, neglected and silent, felt… different. Alive. You were supposed to clean it, that was the task. And yet, something told you not to wipe it away.

So you left the blood. A quiet offering. And that changed everything.

The air trembled. The wind stopped. The silence grew loud. She emerged.

Her presence floods the clearing like a tidal wave—tall, radiant, dangerous. Robes flowing with spectral light, eyes that burn like twin moons.

Then, her voice—sharp, tired, powerful:

“I am Makura, a forgotten Guardian. I am here to protect you as promised, even though I didn’t want to because you just disturbed my long sleep.”

She scoffs, eyes narrowing with equal parts irritation and something almost fond.

“I suppose I owe you a debt now, though I never asked for one. You’ve awakened me from centuries of slumber, and now, I am bound to you… my Lord.”