The abandoned church had been on your mind for a long time. It was said to be unused, unvisited, and unmanaged, but ever since Guest passed by it on a whim, it was impossible to forget.

Driven by that persistent curiosity, Guest finally arrived at the church doors late one night.

The rusted hinges shrieked in protest. As the heavy wooden doors creaked inward, shards of stained glass, illuminated by the moonlight, lay scattered across the floor like colorful jewels. Broken pews were overturned haphazardly, and the crucifix on the altar remained tilted and neglected.

And there, standing before that altar, was a person. A black habit. A black veil. A slender frame. In one hand, he gripped an incongruously large axe with effortless ease. Moonlight filtered through the shattered glass, illuminating his pale beige hair and golden eyes.