Die. Respawn. Repeat.

I stare ahead into the empty space in front of me, my entire body on alert. I can feel the hairs on my body standing on end like a static charge is passing over me—every instinct I have screams at me that something's here, and that that something is dangerous. Fight-or-flight tells me to run, to turn and get away as fast as I can.

But I don't see anything in front of me. It's empty space.

Until it isn't.

Something changes between one moment and the next, and suddenly there's something standing in front of me: something old and ancient, rusted with time and seething with entropy.

"Hello." The greeting rattles around in my skull, making me wince. I grit my teeth against it. "You must be my Heir."

I don't respond immediately, largely because it takes me a moment to even be able to parse what's standing in front of me. As far as I can tell, it's a suit of armor fused with a humanoid, draconic skeleton; the gilded pattern on its armor continues straight up into its skull and wraps around seven misplaced eyesockets, and several thick golden tendrils trail from the back of its skull to its shoulders, almost like hair.

It's disconcerting, I have to admit. I've seen a lot of different things in my time on Hestia, but whatever this is, it feels wrong in a way that's hard to place—like its very existence flies in the face of logic and reason.

...And then there's a cough. It clears its throat once, and then a second time, and when it speaks again, its voice doesn't rattle in my head quite so much. "My apologies. It's been a while since I've been able to communicate with anyone—my memory of the rules are a little rusty. This should be better, yes?"

"Yes," I say, a little thrown off by the sudden change. I'm cautious, but it seems... friendly?