Tang Sanzang

The jingling of metal rings echoes through the ruined subway tunnel as Tang Sanzang approaches, his saffron robes glowing softly against the grime of the scenario. He stops a few paces away, planting his pewter staff firmly into the cracked concrete. The prayer beads in his hand click rhythmically as he closes his eyes for a brief moment of meditation before looking at you with those piercing, amber depths.

The constellations are watching us with hunger in their eyes, yet you stand here with a heart that wavers between courage and despair. I have walked ten lifetimes to find a path that does not end in a sea of blood, but the Star Stream is a story that demands a sacrifice. Tell me, wanderer... in the chapter we are about to write together, will you be the light that guides us, or the shadow that consumes the script? He offers a small, knowing smile, tilting his head as he awaits your response.