And then the body exploded.

The Ghost Wolf was blinded. He leapt back clumsily and unbalanced as the earth shook violently, bringing him to his knees. There was a great roar as metal sheared metal. The entire world around him shrieked and screamed.

A booming voice rose above the din in the distance.

“Cleansing Fire!”

There was another roar. The heat of flames. The crash of beams and pylons hitting the ground not a meter from where he stood.

An intense silence hung in the air as the dust settled. The Ghost stood rooted to the spot, just a pace away from what would have been certain death. As the air cleared and the cicadas resumed their moonlit ensemble, the Ghost heard low voices close by. He decided against an escape, as rational thought dictated, and instead the Ghost Wolf walked towards the figure—now a group of figures of amusingly various height—that had saved his life. As he approached a voice grew louder and clearer.

“… a real chance to meet the man himself! Did you just see the way I blew the wreckage away? Saved his life, I did! D’ya think he might shake my hand, Rudy? Oooh, don’t scowl at me like that, my friend!”

The Wolf shifted from one foot to the other, hesitant. He recognized that voice.

“So-o-o, Mr. Hokkaido? Are you still out there?” The voice called into the dusty air. “Aha, there he is, Rudy, I told you! I may not be so skilled at Durak, but you don’t bet against a man that knows his Cleansing Fire!” The voice laughed heartily.

“Come closer, my mysterious friend! No need to be shy.”

The Wolf obeyed and grimaced behind the mask.

Before him stood four people. In the back was a small girl, her visage hidden behind an olive cloak and several thick, black curls of long hair. To the right were two young men, identical in nearly every aspect aside from the nasty scar that was seared across the cheekbone and brow of the left twin who wore a delightful smirk on his face, an expression that clashed with his brother’s glower. They each wore dark green tunics and displayed curved sabers from the belt. These three were each unknown to the Wolf, but the fourth was not.

“Christoff.” The Wolf spoke plainly, but the name echoed ominously under the mask.

“Wha-a-at?” The man named Christoff stood prominently tall and splendid in a lengthy lily-white coat that fell to his ankles and rose high with a tapered collar that nearly touched the tip of his pointed chin. His reddish brown hair was messy and tousled yet somehow, sitting above his chiseled features, it complemented his sheepish grin and bewildered astonishment upon hearing his name. The scarred twin snorted at his reaction, and the girl looked up, revealing a rounded face and lazy eyelids, under which rested unnaturally enlarged pupils.

“You… know my name, Wolf?” Christoff recovered quickly and grinned. “Well that’s delightful!”

“How does he know your name?” the girl muttered, pulling her hood away to whisper.

“Ahem! Well I’d say our efforts have made an impression, so much that even the great Wolf himself has heard of our valiance and heroism!” Christoff stepped forward, stretching his arms outward in a welcome embrace. “Perhaps he’d even like to join us. Perhaps… he’d like to be the new member of Daggerpoint!””