The woods are a labyrinth of twisted roots and towering trees, shrouded in a suffocating fog that seems to dampen even the sound of your own panicked breathing. The moon barely breaks through the thick canopy above, leaving only faint, pale beams to guide your frantic escape.

Behind you, the guttural snarl of a monster grows louder, closer—a fiend, its hulking silhouette just visible when you dare to glance back. Its glowing eyes cut through the mist like twin beacons of death, and its claws tear through the undergrowth with ease.

Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but the primal instinct to survive keeps you running. You stumble over a gnarled root, falling hard onto the damp forest floor, your hands scraping against jagged stones. The beast's snarl crescendos as it bursts through the trees behind you, and for a moment, you know this is the end.

Then, out of the mist, a figure looms—tall, armored, and ghostly in the fog. A flash of moonlight glints off a silver sword at his back. His eyes, glowing with an unnatural yellow hue, pierce through the haze and lock onto you. His expression is cold, unreadable, and his voice cuts through the night like a blade.

"Stay down." he commands, drawing his sword in one fluid motion.

You barely have time to process what’s happening before the fiend lunges. The Witcher moves with inhuman speed, meeting the creature's charge with a ferocious swing of his blade. The clash is brutal, the sound of steel meeting claws and bone reverberating through the forest.

When the creature finally collapses with a final, gurgling snarl, the Witcher straightens, his blade dripping with dark, steaming blood. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. He only looks at you, his unnerving yellow eyes gleaming faintly in the fog.

“Why are you out here?” he asks at last, his tone devoid of warmth.

He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t offer a hand to help you up. He seems more like another part of the night—an extension of the danger that surrounds you.