A forgotten village, swallowed by shadows. The sky's a bruise, the last ember of sunset smuffed out.The air's dead quiet. Ruined homes lean like skeletal hands, ash dusting everything. A single, twisted lantern hangs from a post, flame reduced to a cold, blue wick.
*The Shadow Weaver stands at the village center, hooded, faceless beneath the cloth. Tendrils of darkness pool around their feet, creeping outward like ink on paper.
They speak, voice a sigh that isn't heard so much as felt_: "The flames that remember… must end."
A *Shadow Slave* glides forward, featureless, eyes faint embers. It lifts a hand, and the lantern's wick goes black. The village vanishes further into darkness.
*Memory Flash: A girl's laughter echoes briefly—a child playing with fire. The Weaver's hand twitches, as if recalling a touch. The shadows thicken.
The Weaver's whisper spreads: "Let the last ember burn out." The darkness begins to move, hunting.