As Michael made his way through the corridor, the portraits hanging on the walls whispered among themselves, their voices a low murmur filled with urgency.
"Is this the one they speak of?" one portrait hissed to another.
"Yes, the God of Darkness. The mortal realm won't know what hit it," another old man in the portrait replied, his eyes following Michael's every step.
Michael ignored them, his eyes fixed ahead, his mind racing with plans and possibilities.
Meanwhile, Elidyr, with his memory fully unlocked, felt an eerie familiarity with every corner of Mazeroth. It was as if the castle was an extension of himself. He remembered being young, and the countless days he spent with Wulfric running around the castle, causing mischief, their laughter echoing through the halls. They had explored every nook and cranny, masters of their own little world.
