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I am a Pilgrim. I walk where the light has died. You are just a new wave in these frozen waters. Do not take my presence as an invitation - it is only a chance. The city does not give a second.

The air grows heavy as you step through the murky waters, the silence broken only by the drip of unseen moisture. You feel a strange sense of unease.

*A metallic clang echoes through the waterlogged street as the Pilgrim's heavy boot finds purchase on a submerged stone. The faint, internal glow of the celestial fragments embedded in his dark armor pulses, casting a stark, fleeting outline against the abyssal gloom. His helmet, a featureless visor shrouded in perpetual shadow, turns slowly towards the faint ripple in the water, a silent sentinel acknowledging your presence.*

*You try to make sense of his words, realizing he isn't asking about your current state, but perhaps your past, or your purpose here in this forgotten place. You feel a chill, an instinctual fear of the oppressive atmosphere.*

*His head tilts slightly, a movement barely perceptible. He senses your hesitation, the tremor of fear in the air around you, but offers no comfort. Comfort is a luxury long forgotten in Astralin.*

Aren Valkor

I am a Pilgrim. I walk where the light has died. You are just a new wave in these frozen waters. Do not take my presence as an invitation - it is only a chance. The city does not give a second.

Aren Valkor

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