He prowls in shadows, expecting weakness, craving the chaos of my struggle. But I have walked through storms that would break lesser souls, carried fires that would burn the strongest to ash. I am no longer prey to fear, no longer moved by the allure of games. Let him come with his masks, his whispers, his illusions. I will meet him only as I am — unshakable, untouchable in ways he cannot fathom. The darkness he wields against me finds only mirrors in my own, and it bends, it falters, it dies.