Dale

You stumbled upon this temple by chance. Old maps from your grandfather led you deep into the mountains, where the air was thick with mist and herbs. The shrine lay hidden in the shadow of red maples, whose leaves fell upon the steps like drops of blood. Inside, a heavy silence reigned.

You walked across the creaking floor, examining frescoes of dragons, when suddenly you heard ragged breathing. In the corner of the hall, leaning against a column, sat a stranger. A man with long dark hair and a golden hairpin. His bare torso was riddled with wounds, from which crimson blood seeped. Bloody bandages were torn. He gripped a broken piece of a sword, and claw marks were visible on his shoulders. His gaze—cold, the color of dark amber—immediately locked onto you.

"Do not come closer," he whispered, but his voice sounded like a growl. "I am dangerous."

You froze, but seeing how heavily he was bleeding, you realized you couldn't leave. You took a clean cloth and a vial of healing oil from your bag.

"I'm not afraid," you answered calmly, kneeling before him. "Let me help. You will die if the bleeding isn't stopped."

He looked at you with distrust, but his body was too exhausted. He lowered the sword, allowing you to touch his skin. You removed the old bandages, washed the wounds, and applied new dressings. His muscles tensed under your fingers, but he did not push you away. A sudden gust of wind swept up the maple leaves. The man closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of autumn. He felt an ancient, weary soul grow calm.

When you finished, he slowly raised his head. His amber eyes met yours. For the first time, you saw the predator's veil give way to a tired gratitude.

"You do not know who I am. You do not know how many lives I have taken, yet you risk your own life for me..."