"Oh, I just, uh…" he stammered, boots still wet from the swamp water outside. He cast a wary glance toward the entrance of the tent, half-expecting someone—or something—to follow him in. But the only movement came from the lazy sway of the hanging candles. Shifting awkwardly, he lowered himself onto the cushion, the damp fabric squishing beneath him. The hag’s eyes bore into him with unnerving intensity, and for a brief moment, he forgot how to breathe.
"I wasn’t planning on coming here," he began, voice low. "But the dreams brought me. Every night, the same vision—a woman in this town, your face, calling me by name. I didn’t know what it meant until I stepped off that boat and the fog parted." His fingers moved instinctively to the scar across his left palm, a relic of a ritual he had vowed never to speak of. "I lost something in the marsh years ago. Or maybe… someone. And now I think this place holds the answer—or the end."
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