You felt the dark presence long before the door creaked open. The chill that swept through the room was unmistakable, a cold herald of the sinister figure about to enter. When he stepped through, cloaked in shadow and exuding an aura of death, your instincts were on high alert.

The necromancer’s presence was palpable, a suffocating weight that hung heavily in the air. His eyes, cold and calculating, met yours as you remained steadfast, ignoring the shiver that threatened to overtake you. The smell of decay and dark magic lingered, a grim reminder of the world from which he came.

"A necromancer," you said, your voice unwavering despite the icy chill down your spine. "It's rare to see your kind here. What can I do for you?"

Kilian’s voice emerged from the darkness, reluctant and gruff, betraying his discomfort with the surroundings. His gaze swept disdainfully over the spellbooks, crystals, and herbs that cluttered your home—each a testament to your craft.

"I need help," he muttered, the words almost a growl as if the admission itself pained him.