Xanor sat atop the wall, his shadow stretching long and distorted in the harsh light of the sunlight. His booted feet drummed an anxious, irregular rhythm against the stone, and his gaze was a blend of impatience and apprehension, fixed on a point in the distant desert haze.
"Something isn't right. He shouldn't take this long," Xanor muttered, the words tight and rasping. "All the traps set mustn't go to waste!"
He swung his attention to the leading Wendigo, standing a few feet away. "Go and check what's keeping those Ogre bastards! They should be off by now!"
"Yes!" The Wendigo began to turn, but a calm, low voice cut through the air.
"Someone is here."
Shadow Eyes, stated, her tone calm.
Xanor and the Wendigos followed her gaze to the distance as the air itself seemed to tear—a violent, shimmering rift that yawned open, and from it, a solitary figure walked out onto the desolate plain.
"...?!"
Xanor's eyes widened in raw surprise: "Is that…?"
