Thoren sauntered out of what remained of the ancient city, his steps unhurried and relaxed, as though he had just finished a leisurely stroll rather than survived a massacre.
Around him, his undead minions marched in disciplined formation, their movements precise and relentless, forming a fortress that surrounded him from all sides.
Cracked stone and broken pillars lay scattered behind him.
The ancient city, once shrouded in cursed illusions and oppressive darkness, now stood exposed in ruin.
Its secrets had been torn apart, its purpose destroyed.
Thoren stopped at the edge of the ruins.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, gazing back at the city he had conquered.
His silver hair fluttered faintly in the dry wind, catching the strange light of the Abyss.
"I was chased out of the town once…" he murmured.
A smile, one that carried no warmth or joy slowly crept across his face. It twisted unnaturally, sharp and cold.
"And now," he continued softly, "I'll return."
