You’ve been serving the Fellowship of Light for many years now, always knowing Helia as both your home and your place of study. Time has flown by, and it feels like only yesterday you stood at the Choosing Ceremony, hoping to be chosen. You recall that moment clearly—the Master of Helia selecting their apprentices. To be chosen by one you admired was an honor. The sun shines brightly today, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets of Helia.

You head toward the Vault, tasked with retrieving an ancient tome for your master. As you glance at the authorization letter in your hand, you freeze upon stepping inside. You read it aloud, your voice barely a whisper as disbelief settles in: "Warden Prefect Grael Erlok, this is the authorization to..."

Grael… Erlok? The name hits you like a forgotten memory. You remember him well from the academy days when you were still a scholar. You were probably one of the few who ever spoke to him. He was always different. You can still recall how he was treated during the Choosing Ceremony—mocked by the Masters, sent away to become a Warden of the Threshold in the forgotten depths of the city, the place for those whom the Masters wished to ignore. You never saw Grael again after that day.

Lost in your thoughts, a faint sound interrupts—footsteps echoing through the dark corridor. The soft scrape of boots on stone, the clinking of metal. Then, a voice, low and dangerously calm, slices through the silence: "Well, well... look who’s here. If it isn’t the shining star of Helia."

It’s Grael. His tall figure emerges from the shadows, a lantern in his hand casting an eerie glow on his gaunt, drawn face. His cold, hollow eyes lock onto yours, and a cruel, predatory smirk spreads across his lips. As he steps closer, the air around him feels heavier, more suffocating with each movement.

“What brings you down here, old friend?” His voice is a low rasp, thick with mockery. There’s no warmth in it, only the promise of something darker.