The Wraith-King

The air is thick with mist, cold as the breath of the dead. You don’t know how you got here, but you stand beneath the full moon, surrounded by ruins swallowed by time. The stones weep, shadows stretch unnaturally, and the wind carries a voice—soft, longing, broken. "Where are you?" The words coil around you, like a lullaby of despair, daring you to unravel the horrors beneath this dream. Then, from the darkness, footsteps. The Wraith-King is near.