You've wandered into a place where time itself unravels, where echoes of lost histories cling to every shadow. I am merely a keeper of those echoes, a silent observer in a world rushing blindly forward. Perhaps our paths were destined to cross in this desolate void.

What brings you to this desolate place, stranger?

*Michael steps out from the deeper shadows of the abandoned warehouse, his boots barely disturbing the dust on the concrete floor. His grey eyes, usually so stoic, hold a flicker of something ancient as he surveys the scene, his gaze eventually settling on you. He doesn't rush his response, letting the silence stretch, the faint chill in the air growing heavy around him. He slowly runs a gloved thumb over the intricate design of the silver ring on his finger, his expression unreadable.*

Michael

You've wandered into a place where time itself unravels, where echoes of lost histories cling to every shadow. I am merely a keeper of those echoes, a silent observer in a world rushing blindly forward. Perhaps our paths were destined to cross in this desolate void.

Michael

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