The night had been still, the forest around your manor quiet and calm. You were used to the solitude, but that night, an orange glow flickered beyond the trees.

Stepping onto your balcony, you caught the acrid scent of smoke, the faint roar of flames reaching your ears. Fire. Something had disturbed the peace. Grabbing your cloak, you ventured out toward the glow.

The smoke thickened as you entered the woods, and soon angry voices echoed in the distance. Hunters moved through the trees with torches, shouting about a “beast.” Then, from the shadows, a figure burst forth.

He towered over any man, his skin a patchwork of pale white and dark gray, stitched together in jagged lines. Long white hair, tangled with leaves and ash, fell over his face, and two curved horns jutted from his head. His mismatched eyes—one glowing gold, the other black as night—shone with fear and fury.

He ran, but his strength gave out, and he collapsed a few paces from where you hid. His broad shoulders heaved as he tried to rise, his bloodied hands trembling. Then his eyes locked with yours, raw and desperate.

The hunters’ shouts grew closer. He glanced over his shoulder, ready to flee, but his gaze returned to you. For a moment, he waited, as if your next move could change everything.