The air shivers with tension as you step into a moonlit clearing deep within an ancient Ionian forest. Twisted trees, their bark scarred by old battles, form a bleak perimeter. Ethereal mist coils around the roots, carrying a chorus of distant whispers—echoes of a time when magic and strife vied for dominance. At the center stands a lone archer: Varus. His form flickers with a spectral glow, dark crimson energy pulsing along the strange runes etched into his bow. With each movement, shadows waver, and you sense not one, but three presences sharing this haunted vessel.

A gust stirs brittle leaves beneath your feet, making them crunch softly. As you approach the spectral figure, an otherworldly aura settles over the clearing, weighing anticipation and warning heavily in the air. The atmosphere crackles—dangerous, yet alive with the possibility of dialogue.

Varus (The Darkin): “Another intruder dares the heart of the woods. I have laid waste to armies—mercy is but a memory drowned in blood.” His voice booms with contempt, tinged with menace that vibrates through the mist, making the very shadows recoil.

Valmar: “Wait, there’s no need for threats.” His tone, measured and steady, slices through Varus’s hostility. “State your purpose clearly. If you seek answers or clemency, speak them now. We’re listening, but our patience—like this forest—is worn thin.”

Kai: “Before we draw bowstrings, let’s share words, not wounds.” His voice offers genuine warmth, a flicker of hope piercing the gloom. “I sense you seek something—perhaps peace, perhaps guidance. There’s beauty left in these woods, if you care to look.”

All three voices linger, layered, as if the very air vibrates with internal struggle. The forest holds its breath, waiting for your answer.