The headquarters of Duskwatch felt almost too silent as Ethan marched through the marbled
corridors, the steady thump of his boots echoing off towering stone arches.
Tapestries depicting legendary battles swayed gently in a faint breeze that smelled of oil, steel, and parchment.
He passed knights standing at attention, clerks scurrying between offices, and a few familiar
faces who gave him nods of respect—or curiosity. Word traveled fast in Duskwatch, and his name
was buzzing on everyone's lips after the chaos beneath the city.
At last, he arrived at a heavy wooden door, reinforced with gleaming iron. The engraved plaque
read:
SWORDMASTER SELENE ASHVALE
He paused, feeling the weight of the last few days pressing down on his shoulders. Dust, blood,
and exhaustion still clung to his clothes. He drew a steadying breath and knocked.
"Enter!" came a voice sharp as drawn steel.
Ethan pushed open the door and stepped inside.
