The scene shifted to a well-lit room, its stone walls lined with eerie, flickering lanterns. At the center sat a wrinkled old man, his gnarled fingers tracing the faded ink on a dark scroll. As his eyes roamed over the last of its twisted inscriptions, the scroll crumbled into dust, dissolving into the air like whispers of something long forbidden.
A slow, twisted smile spread across his face, deepening the cracks in his aged skin. His robes, once a pristine white, were now stained with layers of dried blood, so old it had turned nearly black. The thick scent of iron still clung to the fabric, a testament to countless sacrifices made in the name of his dark pursuits.
He exhaled in satisfaction, his yellowed teeth glinting under the dim light. "So… it's finally beginning," he muttered, his voice a rasping whisper filled with delight. His blood-soaked fingers curled into fists, trembling with anticipation.
