The corridors of Amon's palace were silent in an almost unnatural way, as if the very air respected the presence of that place and avoided any unnecessary disturbance. The dark walls, adorned with ancient inscriptions that pulsed softly with demonic energy, reflected a history too long to be told in simple words. It was a place of power, of stability, of absolute control—and at that moment, everything there seemed… calm.
Amon walked slowly through the main hall.
His steps were measured, steady, echoing softly off the black marble beneath his feet. His posture remained impeccable, erect, as it always had been, his hands clasped behind his back while his eyes scanned the surroundings without really needing to. He knew every inch of that palace. Every detail. Every flow of energy.
Nothing escaped his control.
Or at least… nothing should.
