The western continent held within its heart a fortress unlike any other. Erebus's castle, a monolithic structure cloaked in shadows and adorned with dripping green goo, cast an imposing figure against the horizon. Its towers reached toward the heavens, a silent sentinel watching over the land.
Within the echoing halls of the fortress, Erebus sat upon his throne with an air of indifference, his gaze wandering aimlessly across the vast emptiness of his domain.
His hand idly propped up his cheek as if weighed down by the sheer monotony of his existence. Despite the grandeur of his surroundings, the castle felt hollow, devoid of life save for the occasional fluttering of shadows in the corners.
Beside Erebus stood his enigmatic right-hand man, a figure cloaked in secrecy and draped in a billowing robe. His face hidden behind a mask, he moved with an aura of silent authority, his presence commanding respect from all who dared to approach.
