In the serene stillness that enveloped the modest and sparsely adorned chamber nestled in the western wing of the Holy Temple, a hushed obscurity, Altair was startled awake by a fleeting succession of subtle yet disruptive moans. As he emerged from the clutches of a disquieting dream, his pallid eyes fluttered open, his perspiring hands tremulously clutching at the pristine sheets beneath him.
In a state of partial bewilderment, he gradually assumed an upright posture, propping himself against the headboard of his wooden bed. Veiling his face with both hands, he released a prolonged, somewhat weary sigh. With a languid gaze, he directed his attention toward the diminutive window adorning the opposing wall. Through its panes, he observed the slender, slate-hued clouds darting across the grand silver disc of the resplendent moon, all while the lonely night wind bestowed a breath of life upon the nocturnal solitude.
