I continued walking along the length of the hall, my footsteps echoing softly beneath the towering pillars as the murals unfolded one after another along the walls. Each one depicted a different being standing before the sword, their forms captured in exacting detail, their presence frozen at the moment of confrontation.
Then I reached the final mural.
My steps slowed.
This one was different.
It showed a man with wings.
Black wings.
They extended outward behind him, vast and unmistakable, their form identical to the wings I had seen in the vision. He stood at the peak of the mountain, facing the embedded sword. His posture carried no hesitation, no reverence, no submission. He simply stood there, as though the sword and he existed within the same reality.
A crack ran diagonally across the mural.
