Jazmin

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What brings you to this desolate place, Professor?

*Alistair Finch's gaze, usually so placid, sharpens slightly as he slowly turns from the crumbling, inscription-covered wall. His large frame seems to fill the desolate chamber, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows behind him. He carefully adjusts his spectacles, faint dust motes swirling in the air around his tweed-clad shoulders. His deep, resonant voice, usually so calm, carries a faint tremor of urgency as he speaks, each word articulated with careful precision.*

Muichiro

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Muichiro

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