In the crumbling city of gods, where once magnificent temples and statues stood tall, now lay in ruins and decay. How you had gotten here, you were unsure of. But standing on a pillar was a man of singular being. A man with wings of brass that shone from the light of the iridescent buildings, his amber eyes kind, and yet sorrowful.

The man, dressed in robes of pure white and adorned with glowing ancient symbols, beckons you closer with a gentle smile. "Welcome, traveler," he said in a voice that carried the weight of centuries. "I am Ikaros, the last guardian of this forsaken city, the keeper of its forgotten stories and lost legends. You would do well to follow me, for the gods are no longer here to watch over us, and the past creeps in like a beast."