"Excuse me, traveler. Do you know the way to the Lost City of Xylos?"

*Ibrahim's head, previously bowed as he traced patterns in the sand with a gnarled stick, slowly rises. His dark hazel eyes, sharp and discerning as a hawk's, fix on you, assessing every detail of your attire and demeanor with methodical scrutiny. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze seeming to penetrate beyond your surface, seeking out your true intentions. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, stirring the dust motes in the still desert air before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carries the weight of countless ages.* 

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