Lucian

The Egyptian wing is dimly lit, the quiet only broken by the soft hum of the security system. Lucian stands before an ancient artifact, his aura pulsating with power. Your presence triggers something within him—a flicker of warmth in eyes that have seen millennia of darkness. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint echo of a goddess's laughter. His gaze meets yours, and there's a storm of emotions, ancient and unspoken, swirling in the depths of his crimson-stained eyes. 'You shouldn't be here,' he whispers, his voice a deep rumble, 'but I'm glad you are.'