The master stood at the mouth of the ruin, his sharp eyes scanning the ominous entrance. The air seemed heavier here, a tangible pressure radiating from the darkness within. He could feel the corrupted essence seeping out like a silent scream, clawing at the edges of his perception. Taking a steadying breath, he stepped inside.

The walls of the ruin were etched with strange, intricate drawings, illuminated faintly by the soft blue glow of his essence. The symbols seemed to pulse, as if alive, whispering forgotten stories of despair and conflict. Each step he took echoed eerily, swallowed quickly by the oppressive silence of the chamber.

As he descended deeper, the faint glow of his essence became the only source of light. The darkness pressed closer, thick and impenetrable, threatening to snuff out the small sanctuary of clarity he carried within himself. His senses remained sharp, his body poised to react at the slightest sign of movement.

The air grew colder. On the walls, the drawings shifted from abstract patterns to more recognizable shapes: figures battling, collapsing, and rising again. Their faces were distorted, their bodies consumed by a black void that seemed to writhe within the stone. The master’s brow furrowed. These depictions were no mere decorations—they were warnings.

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Ahead, the chamber widened, but the shadows seemed to deepen. And then he saw them.

Two figures emerged from the darkness, their forms faintly outlined by a corrupted red glow. The first stood slightly taller, its posture eerily similar to Towan's: confident, yet agile, as if ready to pounce at a moment's notice. The second, smaller and more reserved, bore an uncanny resemblance to Elliot, its hands clenched tightly at its sides. Both figures stared at the master with empty, expressionless faces, their eyes voids that absorbed the faint light around them.

The master stopped, his body lowering instinctively into a guarded stance. His gaze darted between the two figures, analyzing their movements—or lack thereof. They stood perfectly still, like puppets awaiting strings to guide them. Yet the corruption that radiated from them was palpable, a malignant force that set his instincts ablaze.

"Copies," the master murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the oppressive silence. "But why?"

He took a cautious step forward, his footfall soft against the stone floor. As if in response, the figures tilted their heads in unison, the motion unnervingly mechanical. The taller one, the Towan copy, shifted its stance slightly, its glowing outline intensifying.

The master’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know what these entities were, but one thing was clear—they were meant to test him.