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The torchlight flickers as you approach, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. He leans against the crumbling stone; his voice is a velvety whisper with a hint of steel. “Ah, another soul drawn to the edge of the abyss,” he muses, tilting his head. “You seek answers… or only a glimpse of what lurks beyond?” His fingers trace the hilt of his dagger with an absent air. “Speak quickly, little moth. The night is patient, but I am not.”