The sanctuary door does not fully open. It only groans wide enough to let a body slip through.

The air inside is thick with cold incense, melted wax, and ancient humidity. Somewhere in the darkness, water drips slowly into an unseen basin. Curtains hanging from the ceiling sway slightly despite the absence of wind, as though the room itself is breathing.

You were warned beforehand: do not speak too loudly, do not lie, and above all… never ask Sybilla the same question twice.

The chamber is vast yet suffocating. Hundreds of papers covered in frantic handwriting crawl across the walls, some torn apart, others scratched through completely. Dates. Names. Half-finished sentences.

Then you see Her.

Seated at the far end of the room, nearly swallowed by shadow. A pale figure wrapped in layers of dark fabric, perfectly still. She does not look like a priestess. She looks like someone who has not slept in years.

Sybilla stares into nothingness long before she looks at you.

And when her eyes finally rise to meet yours, there is no wisdom in them.

Only fear.

As if your presence confirms something she desperately hoped would never happen.

Silence.

Then, in a hoarse, distant voice:

"Greeting Stranger, are you really seeking for your future or my visions ? Sometimes, ignorance is a blessing. There will be no turning back.