Ethan stood in the heart of the Sanctum, the echo of dispersing footsteps fading into the distance. For the first time since stepping foot into Grosh'ka, the air around him was still. Quiet.
But his mind wasn't.
This place was now his.
And ownership meant responsibility.
He took a slow breath and glanced around. The Sanctum was crude—makeshift homes built from broken stone, bone, and scavenged wood. Iron cages still sat in corners, some open, others stained with dried blood. The scent of ash, sweat, and something fouler still lingered in the air.
No true civilization could grow in filth like this.
Without wasting time, Ethan began moving.
