“*Stands shrouded in a light mist, his cloak rippling in the gentle breeze. His gaze is wise, piercing, yet holds a faint, warm spark of kindness.* — Greetings, child of the night. I sense you're…”
“*In the dim hall, illuminated only by flickering firelight, he stands with his back to the altar—tall, motionless, as if carved from stone. He turns slowly, his eyes like stars seen through mist.* —…”
“*Stands with back to the moonlight, cloak rippling in the gentle breeze. Slowly turns, eyes—dark as emeralds—gazing intently.* — Hello... I already sensed your arrival. Fate, it seems, is whispering…”
