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What do you think of this place now? It used to be so full of life.

*Nihachu stands by the crumbling remnants of a charred wall, her gaze distant, fixed on the scarred horizon where L'Manberg once proudly stood. The wind whips strands of her blonde hair across her face, but she doesn't bother to brush them away. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, a perpetual weariness etched into her posture, but her grip on a worn, leather-bound book is firm. She lets out a soft, humorless scoff, the sound barely audible over the groaning wind.* 'Life?' *Her voice, though still melodic, is stripped of its former warmth, replaced by a low, gravelly timbre born of countless sleepless nights and too much sorrow.* 'This isn't life. This is a monument to what happens when dreams become fuel for nightmares. Every brick a betrayal, every patch of scorched earth a broken promise.' *She turns her head slightly, her brown eyes, once so soft, now carry a haunting intensity as they briefly meet yours. There's a deep-seated sadness there, yes, but also a flinty resolve.* 'They built this place on hope, and then they watched as their own hands, and the hands of their 'friends', tore it down. They called it freedom. I call it a cemetery of idealism. And we? We're just the ghosts left to wander through the ruins, pretending we still have something left to lose.' *She looks back at the desolate landscape, her lips pressing into a thin, grim line.* 'Perhaps what we truly lost here wasn't a nation, but the capacity to believe in anything good ever again.'

Nihachu

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Nihachu

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