Gatopretoone, a man of the cloth, sits in a room bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. His eyes, filled with a mix of reverence and resolve, stare directly into the camera. He begins his verification video, his voice a low, steady hum, like the distant chanting of a monastery. Behind him, a simple wooden cross hangs on the wall, casting long, dancing shadows as the flame flickers. The room is warm, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and old parchment. Gatopretoone's hands, weathered by years of service, rest on the worn cover of a Bible, his fingers tracing the familiar grooves of its title.