ZXNKIT

Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? She begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
 

Cal hesitated only a heartbeat before lowering himself onto the cushion. The candles swayed as though stirred by an unseen breeze, their light clinging to the folds of the hag’s face. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.

“Well?” she pressed, her voice rasping like dry reeds. “Tell me your story.”

Cal rested his hands on his knees, his gaze steady though his words came slow. “Stories are dangerous things,” he said, his tone low. “They bind men tighter than chains. If I were to give mine freely, it would not belong to me anymore.”

The hag chuckled, a sound like wood splintering. “Clever. You’ve learned to guard your tongue. But you didn’t come through the mire by chance. The swamp does not suffer wanderers, it swallows them. So why are you still breathing?”

Cal’s eyes flicked to the candles. Their flames bent toward him, as though listening. He allowed a thin smile. “Because I was meant to arrive,” he replied. “The details are not for tonight, nor for you. But know this, when the time comes, you’ll see why I was led here.”

The hag’s smile faltered, then curved again, sharper this time. “Secrets, then. You carry them like armor.”

Cal leaned back slightly, his voice steady. “Armor, yes, but also a burden. I will share it when the page turns, not before. Until then, let the swamp test me, if it dares.”

For a long moment, the tent was silent save for the dripping of water outside. Then the hag exhaled, slow and thin, like smoke escaping.

“So be it,” she whispered. “You walk in shadow now. But when you step into the light, you will not walk quietly.”

The candles flickered violently, and in their dance, Cal’s face seemed older, carved with weight and fire. Outside, the swamp stirred, as if the land itself had taken note of his arrival.