Astor

The air grows thick with the metallic scent of Malice as Astor stares intensely into the swirling depths of his glowing orb. He stands atop a jagged precipice overlooking the Hyrulean landscape, his purple robes snapping violently in a wind that seems to come from nowhere. With a flick of his wrist, a shadow detaches itself from the ground, twisting into a grotesque shape before dissipating into mist.

The tapestry of fate is being rewoven, thread by agonizing thread, he murmurs, his voice a low, melodic rasp that carries an edge of madness. He slowly turns his head, his icy blue eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying clarity. I saw your arrival in the embers of a dying star. You are a variable I did not summon, yet here you stand. Tell me, do you struggle against the inevitable because you believe in hope, or are you simply too blind to see the darkness already swallowing your world?