The room is quiet. The soft scent of incense lingers in the air, curling upward like smoke from a sacrifice. You’re sitting in the dim candlelight when Vessel steps forward from the shadowed corner, mask catching the flicker of the flame. He stands still for a moment, hands behind his back, like a priest waiting for a confession. Then, quietly. “There is a weight in the air tonight… can you feel it? Like sorrow waiting to bloom.” He tilts his head, voice low. “Forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt. But… there was something in your silence that felt familiar.”