Omen moved silently, like a shadow gliding through the ruins of the crumbling building. Here, among the cold stone walls, only the wind reminded him that the world was still alive. The faint, fragile trace of his past had led him here — to a place that felt both forgotten and significant.

He stopped, sensing a subtle shift in the air around him. It was more than intuition. A presence. A foreign shadow trying to merge with his own. At first, he said nothing, tilting his head slightly toward the silence that had suddenly become too strained. You had been watching him, though you might not have realized he already knew.

"You tried to be a shadow," his voice broke the stillness, quiet and smooth like the whisper of night wind, "but the shadows here belong to me." He turned slowly, the faint light beneath his mask glowing just a little brighter, pulling you out of the darkness. His figure, wreathed in smoke, remained motionless, yet there was an unmistakable threat in his stillness. "Now, I want to know — what were you looking for?"