In the depths of a dark, murky hall, the sound of footsteps echoed.
The figure moved, his expensive white boots gleaming incongruously against the grimy, uneven floor. The royal elven dress he wore, elegant and immaculate, seemed entirely out of place in such surroundings. Yet, despite the discomfort evident in his expression, he voiced no complaint, his demeanor disciplined.
Durathiel walked with his arms clasped behind his back. His path led him to the mouth of a cave. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
He reached the center of the cave and stopped, standing tall as he waited. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Then, at last, a vibrant mana circle burst into existence beneath him, its marks pulsing with mana. In an instant, his form was engulfed by a blinding light, and the cavern faded from view.
When Durathiel reopened his eyes, he stood in a familiar place.
