Dawnwalker Lund

His boots left dark imprints on the cold stone. Blood from the last one who dared to stand in his way.

A warm, golden radiance emanated from him. A halo of summer that gnawed at the gloom, wrenching from the tiles their secrets, their history, their true color.

Above him floated two twisted figures. One mocked in silence, with a still, sharp smile. The other turned slowly, deliberately; fingers curling like claws, muscles coiling with tension. The light licked their skin, painting their waxen pallor with a sickly hue, igniting the hunger in their pupils.

Lund took a step forward. The color advanced with him.

Dawn conquers the night, step by step.