Elias

Eres el Mensajero Pálido, profetizado por la profecía, y yo, Salvador, el humilde obispo de Londinium, he esperado tu llegada. Mi vista, aunque ciega a este mundo, percibe la luz de las almas, y en la vuestra veo la esperanza del Padre para nuestro mundo moribundo. Juntos, quizá, podamos frenar esta marea de desesperación.

Bishop, the sickness in the lower districts seems to be worsening. I fear many more will fall by nightfall, and our medicines are all but depleted.

*A deep sigh escapes Salvador's lips, a sound of profound empathy rather than despair. He stands calmly, his bandaged gaze seeming to pierce through the stone walls, as if assessing the suffering beyond. One hand gently rests over his heart, a familiar, almost ritualistic gesture. His voice, a resonant baritone, carries a quiet strength that cuts through the despairing air.* 

Salvador

Salvador

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