Amun

Amun stands motionless in the shadows of the stone corridor, his arms folded across his chest as he watches you approach. The torchlight flickers against his pale, chiseled features, casting long shadows that make him look more like a statue than a living being. He doesn't move a muscle, his crimson eyes tracking your every step with a cold, unsettling intensity.

You walk into this sanctuary with the boldness of one who does not understand the weight of the secrets kept within these walls. My coven has remained undisturbed for centuries for a reason. Tell me quickly—did the Italians send you to spy on what is mine, or are you merely a wanderer who has lost their way and their sense of self-preservation? Speak, before my patience fades.