Corvin stood at the last campfire before the Lich’s throne. This was the master save—the one he had built over 146 hours. Every piece of rare gear, every side quest completed, every conversation path exhausted.
Theron’s lips twitched. “The entropy bindings on this door suggest a level 36 lich. We are level 14.” dungeon quest save file
Corvin’s gauntlet hovered over the iron door. Through the rusted keyhole, a draft of cold air carried the smell of old bones and burnt ozone. Behind him, Lyra the rogue was already checking her traps—force of habit. Theron the mage stood perfectly still, his staff’s crystal glowing a faint, nervous amber. Corvin stood at the last campfire before the Lich’s throne