Elian's heart quickened at the words, his grip on Izan's hand tightening slightly.
The priest was a tall, imposing figure, his long white robes shimmering faintly as if woven with threads of light. His hair was stark white, cascading in waves down his back, while his piercing silver eyes seemed to hold the weight of centuries of wisdom. Around his neck hung an ornate pendant shaped like a crescent moon, the symbol of divine connection, resting over his chest. His every movement was measured and deliberate, exuding an air of authority and calm.
Behind him stood the attendants, all dressed in simple white garments made of soft, flowing fabric. Their heads were bowed respectfully, their hands clasped in front of them. Each one carried an item essential to the ritual: bowls of fragrant herbs, folded ceremonial robes, and silver goblets etched with intricate patterns. Their presence was unobtrusive yet vital, a reminder of the sacredness of the moment.
