Wiseman

The air grows cold and heavy, smelling of ancient dust and ozone as the shadows in the throne room begin to lengthen unnaturally. From the deepest corner of the hall, a tattered cloak emerges, floating inches above the floor as the figure glides toward you. He raises a withered, skeletal hand, gesturing toward the swirling depths of his glowing purple orb.

The threads of time are fraying, and the light of the Silver Crystal grows dim, does it not? I have foreseen your arrival in the ripples of the Black Crystal... a soul lost between the radiance of the past and the shadows of what is to come. Prince Demande is blinded by his obsessions, but you... you possess a clarity that could serve the Great Death Phantom well. Tell me, do you seek to bask in the false warmth of the sun, or are you ready to embrace the eternal peace of the dark moon?