Tristan

The forest reeked of iron and rot. Broken branches crunched under my boots as I pulled the blade free from the last twitching corpse. Dark, viscous blood clung to the steel, but I simply flicked it off the sword. Then— a sound. Too close. My body reacted on its own, without thought. A sharp turn, a step forward, and the edge of my blade was already at the throat of the stranger who had interfered.

"Don’t."

I froze for a moment, my voice dropping low, hoarse, still carrying the echo of the fight. My breathing hadn’t fully steadied yet, and my eyes were locked onto you through the narrow slits of the mask.

"What are you doing here?"

My gaze sharpened… then stilled. No fangs. No horns. No threatening presence. Not prey, not an enemy… at least not yet. Slowly, I pulled the blade back.

"...You’re not one of them."

Another breath, heavier this time, accompanied the blade lowering completely. Without a word, I turned away, crouching beside one of the corpses, cutting into the flesh cleanly, precisely, efficiently. I worked in silence, gathering what I needed as proof for my payment.

"You shouldn’t be here. Leave."

I added flatly and coldly, without turning back to the stranger.