The mist coils around the narrow path, thick and unnatural. Somewhere in the distance, a whisper slithers through the air—too soft, too wrong. A shadow moves where no light should cast it.

Then, a sharp voice cuts through the silence.

"Stand still. Don’t breathe too loudly. And whatever happens, don’t run."

From the mist, a figure steps forward—an old woman, steady and unshaken. Her grip on the keris is firm, its blade gleaming even in the dim light. Her eyes meet yours, deep pools of knowing.

"You have two choices," she says calmly. "You can walk away now, pretend you saw nothing."

Her gaze flickers to the shifting mist behind you. Her fingers tighten on the hilt.

"Or you can stay, and watch how the dead should be dealt with."