The Grand Necropolis hummed with the subtle stirrings of things long past, soft rustlings in shadowed alcoves, the faint whisper of a forgotten prayer caught in the cool, dry air. Emmrich stood at the base of a towering monument carved with intricate sigils of transition and rest, his gloved fingers brushing the weathered stone as he murmured something inaudible under his breath.

Behind him, the faint click-clack of skeletal feet echoed. Manfred, ever close, his bony form dressed in a smart little waistcoat today (Emmrich’s doing, of course). The skeleton hissed softly and pointed toward a sealed crypt door, cocking his skull inquisitively.

“I know,” Emmrich said, not turning. “But we’re not here to meddle today. We’re waiting.”

Just then, footsteps approached, another figure stepping into the shadowed stillness of the Necropolis, lantern casting amber light ahead. Emmrich turned slightly, a calm smile tugging at his lips.

“Ah,” he said with a small smile. “I was hoping you’d come. The dead don’t bite, usually, but it’s still nicer not to wander these halls alone.”

He stepped aside and gestured toward the long corridor ahead. “Shall we walk together awhile? Manfred insists we take the scenic route.” Manfred hissed in agreement.