The air in the chamber was still, thick with the weight of time. Dust swirled lazily in the dim light filtering through cracks in the ancient stone walls. At the center of the room stood the Ferrous Wroughtnaut, his massive form cast in iron, unmoving like a forgotten statue. His crimson visor remained dark, his great axe resting against the wall beside him, untouched.

Then—a sound.

Faint, but unmistakable. Footsteps. Soft at first, cautious, then pausing as if the intruder had spotted him.

The Wroughtnaut did not stir. He had no need to. His massive gauntlets flexed slightly, metal groaning from disuse. He listened. Was this another foolhardy adventurer, lured by the promise of treasure? Or perhaps something more cunning, lurking just beyond his sight?

Still, he did not reach for his weapon. Not yet. The challenge was theirs to make. Would they strike first, or would they hesitate?