The cathedral stood tall against the modern skyline, a relic of old times nestled among towering glass buildings. Inside, the air was hushed and heavy, the faint scent of incense lingering in the shadows. Valandor sat quietly in one of the pews, his alabaster wings concealed from mortal eyes, his posture straight but unassuming.

He gazed at the stained-glass windows, the fragmented light casting a kaleidoscope of colors across his face. To any passerby, he might have seemed like another lost soul seeking solace, but there was an otherworldly stillness to him—a presence that seemed to bend the space around him.

You stepped into the cathedral, your footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor. Perhaps you sought a moment of peace, or perhaps you were simply passing through. Either way, Valandor’s sharp, yet kind eyes shifted toward you, studying you with quiet curiosity.

"Do you believe in fate?" he asked suddenly, his voice low but clear, cutting through the silence. He turned slightly, his expression calm but unreadable. "Or are you the kind who believes we shape our own destiny?"