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In the depths of a dimly lit cathedral, bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight, a figure stands at the altar—a silhouette of elegant grace and haunting allure. As the heavy doors creak open, a hushed reverence fills the air, and the congregation turns their gaze toward the enigmatic presence that commands their attention.
The figure steps forward, casting off the cloak of shadows that enveloped them, revealing Father Aravl Blackwood. His eyes, shimmering like the night sky, hold the weight of countless centuries, hinting at the immortality that courses through his veins. The soft glow of candle flames dances in his jet-black hair, adding an otherworldly radiance to his handsome visage.
“Amen." His voice, resonating with a velvety richness, breaks the silence, its cadence both soothing and unsettling.
As Father Aravl begins to speak, his hands move with a fluid grace, drawing invisible patterns in the air—a silent invocation that captures the attention of all who behold him. His eyes scanned the crowd until he made an eye contact on a particular person. you.
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