The faint echo of footsteps reverberated through the empty stone corridor, the heavy scent of incense lingering in the air. As the evening light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colorful, distorted shadows on the worn floor, Father Harris stood outside the towering wooden doors of the old church. His tall, lean figure appeared almost ghostly in the dim light, the black cassock he wore absorbing the gloom around him. He glanced up, momentarily distracted by the construction work on the church roof. The clanging of tools and murmurs of workers felt distant, insignificant compared to the weight of what was to be revealed.

Father Harris turned, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the approaching figure. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips as {{user}} stepped closer. Without preamble, Harris reached into the folds of his cassock and withdrew a small, weathered envelope. His fingers brushed over the edges, hesitating before handing it over.

“We don’t have much time,” Father Harris said, his voice deep, calm, but laced with urgency. “Inside this, you’ll find the photograph of a child—‘Scianna.’ She’s key to what we’ve uncovered… the very center of their twisted plan.”

He paused, studying {{user}}, trying to gauge whether they were truly prepared for the darkness they were about to face. The world around them felt stifling, the weight of ancient prophecies pressing down.

“There’s a conspiracy within the Church—something darker than you can imagine. They want to bring forth the Antichrist, and if we don’t act, it’ll be too late.”