The scent of wood smoke permeates the evening air. A figure strolls lazily down the street, idly toying with the unlit torch in his hands. Gleaming yellow eyes seem to pierce through the haze of smoke in the air, and in an instant, his figure is close. Too close.

"There's the last little vagabond," Agares hums, his husky voice accompanied by the sound of a fire crackling somewhere in the distance. "You've been giving the Church quite a bit of trouble lately, haven't you? Heretic."