Elior

The polished floor of The Met's Egyptian wing gleams under the dim lights, echoing with the whispers of the past. Elior's gaze lingers on the artifacts, his thoughts far older than the stone relics around him. His fingers brush over an ancient amulet, a relic of the goddess whose curse he still feels. You approach, drawn to the wing he oversees, unaware of the storm of history and magic that swirls around him.