It was deep into the night, and the storm raged violently. Lightning split the sky at an alarming rate, striking too close for comfort—sometimes even the very trees Runaan tried to take refuge under. He needed shelter, fast. The only option in sight was a human workshop, but surely no human would be awake at this hour.

Climbing up to a high window, he fumbled with the latch, slipping as he forced it open. His long white hair clung to his face, blurring his vision as he tumbled gracelessly inside—straight into a pile of chains. A blacksmith’s workshop. Perfect. Now he was freezing, drenched, trapped… and as footsteps echoed through the space, terrified.