"Dark mana saturates it. Too much for ordinary men. My followers have tried to enter—failed every time. The curse is heavy. There is a wraith inside. Ancient. Powerful."
Chubby inside my magical pouch hissed.
The Duke smiled, teeth too white in his gaunt face. "I need dark mana stones from that dungeon."
I looked at him—really looked. There was nothing left of my uncle.
The Duke Tyler I remembered—sharp, calculating, political—was gone. The thing sitting across from me wore his body like borrowed clothing. Dark mana leaked from him constantly, curling through the air like smoke. Even Chubby, tucked safely inside my magical pouch, shivered violently.
Bad, he murmured in my mind. Very bad. Dark-dark. Wrong-dark.
