The Horde was oblivious, lost in their dreams of battle and bloodshed.
Satisfied, Volk stepped into the deeper shadows of the cave, where the faint firelight couldn't reach.
The darkness swallowed him whole, and he became one with it, a phantom gliding through the void.
The deeper he went, the quieter the cave became.
The snoring faded into the distance, replaced by the faint echoes of his footsteps against the stone—soft tap-tap-tap sounds that seemed to stretch endlessly in the cavernous space.
The air grew colder, sharper, as if the cave itself was holding its breath. Volk welcomed the chill.
It was familiar, a reminder of the countless nights he had spent alone, planning, scheming, and acting in the shadows while others rested.
Eventually, he emerged into a narrow tunnel that led upward, toward the surface.
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