The Hall of Heroes breathed silence.
Built into the heart of the mountain, it stood like a sanctum untouched by time, its cold stone walls echoing with whispers of past titans. Twelve towering statues lined either side of the corridor, each carved from black obsidian and gilded with faint traces of aura residue that shimmered in low light. Nine bore golden plaques. Three stood blank waiting.
Thalen stepped forward slowly, his boots clicking softly on the polished floor. Every footfall felt sacrilegious.
"These are the Nine," Velis said behind him, his voice quiet but steady. "Living wielders of the Tyrant Spirit."
Thalen's eyes swept across them. Each statue bore the likeness of its respective legend: warriors, sages, assassins, commanders. One statue loomed with a heavy shield and hammer, its massive form scarred with old aura burns; another stood cloaked in flowing robes, eyes closed, hands held in a silent prayer.
But one held his gaze longer than the rest.
