Hideaway Strath they lifted up their eyes and beheld, a company come bearing balm and myrrh,

An ostentatious moniker to match the immensity of his being, thinks the pioneer. Gilead finds himself gladdened by his own reception; dark and abysmal as this sanctum was Gilead trusts his Lord, knowing he will find answers eventually.
For now there are only questions.
The Lord of the highest reaches, he is the Dawn, the Bringer of Light. Many names for the holy creator of all that lives, that which is pure. He is Raas. The reverence within Gilead's voice is unmistakable. That this particular man has not heard the name is not so shocking; Gilead wonders if these Saints follow the faith under a different name but he knows in his core they are bastards and heathens, else his Lord would not have brought him here to save their souls.
They lived in this swarming darkness after all - nothing grows here but the malevolence of the Shade.
There is an old place of power where He used to rise and commune with mortals, an Altar, and that is where I am from. Those that came before me would walk with Him and listen, a few would Speak, as I aspire to. As if this makes all the sense in the world.
Gilead watches the man without fear, filled with holy confidence, asking, I must join with your people, sir. May I be welcome? Something in his voice is pushing for acceptance; he will not beg but neither will he readily back down from this.