Inside a room buried beneath layers of stone and shadow, carved deep into the foundations of an abandoned manor that had vanished from official maps, an eerie stillness reigned.
The air was cool and stale, untouched by sunlight or breeze. The only light came from a faint line of violet sigils etched into the walls, glowing softly like veins of restrained lightning trapped beneath the stone.
The chamber was stark in its design no ornate furniture or lavish decorations, just a wide floor of polished black slate and a ceiling so high it disappeared into darkness. This was not a space meant for comfort; it was crafted for secrecy.
At the center of this silence stood a man with his head bowed. His posture was rigid and controlled, yet tension coiled through his shoulders. He wore fine clothes that were now travel-worn, with exquisite stitching at the cuffs and collar hinting at a life of privilege.
