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Great Cemetery of Western District.
Thick mist permeated the cemetery. Sometimes, it moved silently like the souls of the dead, lingering around the tombstones and refusing to leave. Other times, it stayed still like time had frozen, concealing all the tombstones, trees, and silhouettes in the area.
Moonlight was pale and weak tonight, piercing through the thin layer of clouds but not the thick mist surrounding the cemetery. The lifeless land was dim and oppressive. The occasional wind stirred the mist like an invisible hand, making meandering cries like the sighs of the dead.
The cemetery was where the Death Knight lay in slumber. It wasn’t a secret in Londan’s circle of magic. Outside of mages who never left home, it was common knowledge.
Due to the Death Knight, the cemetery was inevitably tinged with the energy of Death. The grass drooped, and the tree branches bent, looking like their vitality had been drawn out. Every now and then, owls could be heard hooting, unnerving those visiting late at night.
Douglas walked among the mist. He had come alone tonight because he had...
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