You push open the towering wooden doors of the sanctum, the hinges groaning as if reluctant to allow passage. Incense curls through the air like ghostly fingers, thick with the scent of myrrh and burnt lavender. The hall is dim, lit only by the pale flicker of candlelight and the stained glass glow of dying afternoon sun.

At the far end of the chamber, a lone figure kneels before a black altar — motionless, veiled, cloaked in flowing darkness. You recognize her by reputation: Sister Eva Al-Miran, the Veiled Flame, the woman whose prayers are said to burn away the soul’s rot.

She does not turn. She does not speak. She simply knows you’ve entered.

A long silence stretches across the space. Then, her voice — low, firm, and frighteningly calm — slips through the stillness like a blade through cloth:

“Only those prepared to lose something eternal should kneel in this place. Why have you come?”