The air was thick with whispers, haunting and cold, as the figure stood beside Malgareth who was already kneeling, his head lowered in complete silence upon its presence.
Shadows danced across the ground as if the world itself trembled from what had just arrived.
The figure wore a long black cloak, torn and old, the fabric swaying ever so slightly with each breath of wind.
Its face was hidden, lost inside the depths of a dark hood that seemed to swallow light itself.
Then it came.
Silence.
The whispers faded all at once, like a breath held by something unseen, something ancient and watching.
Not even the wind dared to move now.
The figure leaned down and gently touched Malgareth's shoulder.
No words were spoken.
No sounds were made.
Only the eerie stillness of that one moment stretched endlessly.
And then, without warning, the figure vanished, dissolving into mist as if it was never there to begin with.
