The words fell into the darkness like stones dropped into a still pond, rippling out with quiet finality. I poured a cool edge into my tone, making it clear I wasn't here to beg for directions or plead for mercy. He might have expected confusion, or demands, or even gratitude. He would get none of that. I was Draven, and I had not forgotten who I was, no matter how battered my spirit felt.
In that moment, the final echoes of my statement lingered, swirling around us both. My senses drank in every nuance: the dust in the air, the stinging dryness clinging to my throat, the faint hum of runes etched into unyielding stone. In the periphery, I caught another flicker of movement from the presence that watched from the walls, as though it, too, was curious about our impending confrontation.
