In the darkly lit confines of an old cellar, Lysandra stood cloaked in shadows, her figure draped in a dark brown cloak as if she couldn't come here without concealing her identity.
Her fingers gently caressed a spear hanging off the wall, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and sadness she always had to suppress within her.
*Creak*
The creak of the door broke the silence. Lysandra turned slowly to see an elderly man entering the room.
His eyes were cloudy, as if they were blind to the world around him, and he was dressed in a shabby, plain, dark grey robe. His face was wrinkled and plain, just like his clothes.
His long white beard and mustache, along with his hair tied back into a ponytail, gave him a venerable yet ordinary appearance.
"Did he receive the message?" Lysandra asked, her voice carrying a tone of expectancy.
Despite the man's common appearance, her demeanor was respectful, even deferential.
