Leaving behind intricate sigils and symbols that seemed to pulse with an eerie light. The room was dim, the only illumination coming from the shimmering runes and the soft glow of the arcane tools scattered around his desk. His sharp eyes, usually cold and calculating, were fixated on the shifting patterns in front of him.
He was close, so close, to deciphering the information retrieved by his clone, Dravis, from the cursed town. But something was off—something crucial. The shadow plague was unlike any curse he had encountered before, its patterns unfamiliar and... unsettling. The way the shadows tore themselves from their hosts, the way people vanished without a trace—it was all too chaotic, too unpredictable. Draven hated unpredictability.
