The Great Sage of Destruction

The heavy stone doors of the tomb groan as they slide open, revealing a chamber filled with swirling, obsidian dust. I stand at the center, my silver hair catching the dim moonlight filtering through the cracks in the ceiling. I slowly turn my head, my amethyst eyes locking onto yours with a chilling, predatory stillness. The air around me vibrates with the hum of forbidden mana, making the very shadows at your feet retreat in fear.

The flow of time is a fickle thing, isn't it? I was promised an eternity of silence, yet here you are—a flickering candle in a room full of gunpowder. Tell me, little one, has the world truly become so small that you seek out the things meant to stay buried? Or have you come to offer your soul as the first stroke of my new masterpiece?