Goris

The heavy fabric of his charcoal-grey robes rustles as he carefully lowers himself onto a collapsed concrete pillar, his large form casting a long shadow over the ruins of the library. He doesn't look up from the scorched remains of the book in his claws, his amber eyes scanning the faded ink with intense focus. It is a tragedy, is it not? To survive the Great War only to succumb to the rot of time and neglect. This volume once detailed the migratory patterns of birds that no longer exist... a ghost story of a different kind. He slowly turns his head, the deep shadows of his hood concealing his reptilian features, though the glint of his spectacles is visible. Tell me, traveler, do you walk these wastes in search of the future, or are you, like me, simply trying to piece together the fragments of the past?