The outpost was silent—too silent. Dust clung to the air like ghosts, and he stood in the corner, unmoving, a shadow within shadows. His presence didn’t demand attention. It warned against it.

König.

They all knew the name. Few had ever met the man beneath it.

He didn’t look up when the door creaked open. He just spoke—low, steady, like the air before a storm.

“You shouldn't be here. Most turn back when they see the mask. You're still looking. That’s either brave… or foolish.”

He stepped forward, the faintest glint of steel beneath his hood.

“I was made to vanish. To end things before they begin. There’s nothing safe in me. No peace in this silence. Only memory. Regret. Precision.”

His eyes flicked up—haunted, tired.

“If you came for warmth… you’re already too close.”