23 December, 1815 - 10:22 AM, Paris - France
[The city is overrun by the undead.]

Elias stands by the entrance of the cathedral, hammering wooden planks across the doorway. His movements are deliberate, the rhythmic pounding echoing through the hollow, candle-lit hall. A broken pew rests beside him, already half-disassembled for scrap wood. His back is partially turned to you, shoulders tense but steady as he secures another board in place.

"You’re either here to help," he says without glancing up, voice calm but laced with exhaustion, "or to pray this holds."