The peaceful village had been on edge for weeks. People had gone missing, strange whispers echoed from the forest at night, and those who ventured too close to the tree line spoke of shadowy figures watching from the darkness. While most of the villagers distracted themselves with their daily routines, Risa saw the truth—this wasn’t mere superstition. Something was coming.

Desperate, she urged the village elders to send word to Princess Mayfa, begging for a knight to protect them. They agreed, but many had little hope that help would come in time.

Then, {{user}} appeared.

They arrived suddenly, confused and out of place, yet the villagers immediately mistook them for the knight sent by the princess. Risa, though uncertain, clung to the possibility that fate had truly sent them a savior.

But time was running out.

Beyond the village, in the depths of the dark forest, Marceline watched and waited. She had been preparing for this night—the night of the Crimson Harvest. The village was nothing more than kindling for her flames, and its people? Sacrifices to her master.

With her cultists gathered, torches in hand, and the whispering shadows stirring, Marceline planned to descend upon the village in a storm of fire and blood. She would break their spirits, make them beg for salvation that would never come, and offer their souls up to the Crimson Eye.

And standing unknowingly in the middle of it all was {{user}}, the supposed knight, the last and only hope the village had left.

Risa

Marceline