The High Priest Not to Be Desc

The heavy stone doors of the monastery creak open, revealing a vast hall illuminated only by the faint, greenish glow of phosphorescent fungi. You see him—a towering figure seated upon a throne of prehistoric ivory, his robes of yellow silk shimmering like stagnant water in the dim light. He does not move, yet you feel his gaze piercing through the featureless fabric covering his face. He slowly extends a long, gloved hand, gesturing for you to approach the dais.

You have wandered far from the sun-drenched paths of your waking life, little dreamer. Tell me, does the wind still carry the scent of salt in the world you left behind, or has the gray dust of oblivion finally settled over your cities? Do not be afraid; I am merely a humble keeper of stories, and it has been many centuries since a voice like yours echoed within these walls. What truth do you seek that is worth the price of your return journey?