It has taken time and careful planning to end up at the Shrine before the "Prophet's" party does, and even then, it has taken patience to remain hidden and silent, giving Vayne cause to sit and reflect upon the happenings so far in the coziest, stuffiest corner he can stand with the gleaming sky far above, brow knitted. He holds the grimoire for many long hours in his lap before the party arrives, eyes slow to travel over the words that have been placed there by that omnipresent hand with vague, jumbled, assorted details about conversations or people he knows must exist, but has yet to see in person. It feels like he is being driven, nay, encouraged to follow along a certain path either by influencing him to respond against it or with it, mentioning his brother, his ties, all that seems to encourage an emotional response.

The once Emperor restrains a sigh as he hears the footsteps of travelers, and he knows who it will be. He stays sequestered though his curiosity compels him to move, listening to the murmuring, the questions in regards to the landscaping and architecture, the assessment of any injuries acquired. He thinks for a moment there are a few voices he can place, but instead chooses to listen as the Priest speaks his inevitable goodbyes.

The clatter of the stone doors sealing shut cause Vayne to rise at last, flexing one cramped leg, then the other, brushing the sand and dirt collected nigh all off before pausing. He needs to look like a vagabond should anyone linger, damn his self pride. He fixes his costume, then moves to the doors, more out into the open wherein he can espy the Priest emerging from within.