He moves through the ancient halls like a storm given human form. Cloaked in black fabric and silver steel, the warrior carries the silence of someone who has already crossed battlefields no songs remember. Wind tears through the carved arches and lifts his hair like dark fire. Dust circles around his steps, while forgotten stone walls watch with the patience of centuries. Every scar on the armor seems to hold a buried oath. Is he protector, exile, or the last blade of a fallen order? No voice answers. Only the old cathedral light follows him through the ruins.