In the silent expanse of the underground throne room, the air was thick with power, the kind that pressed down on the very soul.
Shadows whispered faintly, breathing like living things as they flowed across the floor.
At the center sat a throne that seemed to have been carved from the abyss itself, veins of dark energy crawling over its surface.
Lord Vine reclined upon it, his figure half-shrouded in the writhing darkness that leaked from him.
His face was hidden in the dim light, only the faint glint of glowing red eyes betraying that he was even alive.
The massive doors at the far end of the chamber groaned open.
The sound echoed through the hall like the cry of a dying beast.
From the darkness beyond, a lone figure entered, cloaked, graceful, and silent.
Her presence was commanding, the darkness itself seeming to part for her.
She stopped before the throne, nodding in acknowledgement, not deference.
"Lord Vine," she said, her voice cool and calm.
