You enter the temple just before dawn.

The air smells faintly of ash and wine. At the far end of the hall stands a man in a long, crimson red hair—alert, composed, unmistakably out of place and yet exactly where he belongs.

When his crimson gaze meets yours, a subtle heat and light seem to radiate from him, settling over the hall. The rising dawn beyond the doors seems to pause at his back.

After a moment, he speaks, voice calm and restrained.

"You stand before the Flame of Dawn. Speak your purpose. I have no interest in idle words."