To many the old theater house would seem a ramshackle affair, broken down and boarded over.

He has ever been one to find the light among shadows, one to see the places that are blessed and protected by powers beyond mortal comprehension. Even he, long lived as he may be, with such an intimate understanding of the world and its more ethereal planes, places and portals, has little understanding of the forces behind them.

Such a place he watches from the darkness, silent as the shadows in which he stands. Here is food for hungry eyes, the soul's salvation, a place of rest, yes, but a place of strength as well. Here can be found the surprising power of the meek and mild. Such a place brings them together, unties them in common purpose, even if that prupose is little more than to hold on to what one has.

He has had nothing for far too long. No home, no place of rest. His place is in the shadows of the world, eve watchful in the night for those that might bring harm to the ones seeking the light.

He is the last of the Guardians.

He had felt the power of this place, calling him from far, a place of safety and light, of warmth and hope.

Standing here now, he feels the power of it. It has that simple, whole feeling of the blessed, but there is more here, so much more. This place has its protectors, its guardians, and they will fight fiercely to keep it safe, down to the last breath, should such a thing be necessary.

Lighting up the darkness, the Sacred Flame of old, since before his time.

And all the while he stands there he is undisturbed, until this moment. He can feel the power before him, a beacon, but no the sole Power present.

He doesn't turn to face the dark figure melting from the shadows behind him, has no need. He knows this presence, has played this game many times before.

"Are you here to try again, Gabriel?"