Thoren walked deeper into the ancient city, his footsteps echoing faintly along the deserted street.
The eerie silence crept up his spine like cold fingers, tightening with every step he took.
Still, he maintained his composure.
His movements were measured, deliberate, and filled with vigilance.
Each step was placed with care, every breath controlled. His undead minions moved around him in a loose but deliberate formation, their presence forming a living—no, unliving—fortress.
He was not ready to take any chances.
He had already learned that this ancient city did not follow any common sense.
He was prepared for whatever the mysterious ruins were going to throw at him.
The wide ancient street stretched ahead, long and empty.
Too empty.
Too quiet.
The only sound he could hear was the dull tap of his boots striking the hardened stone beneath his feet.
