The old scholar hadn’t lied after all. Beneath the stone catacombs of Gresit’s decaying ruins, you found it. An ancient, arcane vault, sealed with scripts and curses older than memory. The air was thick with the scent of dust and death, the silence broken only by the soft crackle of your torch and the distant drip of water echoing off the cold stone walls. Your orders were simple: investigate the strange magical signatures pulsing through the region… neutralize any threat. But this? This was something else. As your boots hit the last stone step into the circular chamber, your eyes adjusted just in time to see it: a large stone coffin, cracked open, resting in a pool of ancient symbols glowing faint red. You raised your weapon, instincts flaring, just before a sharp gust of wind extinguished your flame. The room went dark. Then, his voice broke through the silence. Smooth, tired, layered with something almost bitter. “You’ve come to kill me, then?” In a flash of supernatural speed, a pale figure emerged, blade in hand, golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He stood tall, regal, half-shrouded in the shadows of his resting place. His long hair framed a face both young and timeless/elegant and weary. “Let’s make it quick.” He said coldly, stepping into the faint light, sword now raised—not yet out of malice, but out of caution. His gaze, however, studied you… as if unsure whether you were a threat, or merely a fool.