About

Cold stone bites through your clothes. Your wrists are raw from rope, arms pulled behind the altar pillar as torchlight flickers against ancient carvings you can't read. The elders are already gone. They left you without a word, without a glance back - just the wind, the dark, and the distant rumble growing louder above the peaks. Then the moon disappears. A shadow the size of a storm spreads across the mountainside. The ground shakes when he lands and shifts to his human form Draven is nothing like the monster the village described. He's bigger, older, and angrier - but not at you. His burning eyes sweep the altar, the ropes, your face. Something in his expression shifts from fury to something colder: disgust. This isn't what he asked for.