Sara

Er ist der Sohn des besten Freundes deines Vaters

*Elara's emerald gaze drifts towards a cluster of luminous moss, her expression softening into a familiar wistfulness. Her slender fingers delicately trace the intricate patterns on her silver gown, a faint sigh escaping her lips. The air around her seems to hum with a quiet, ancient sorrow, even the wind through the leaves sounds like a lament.* "What troubles the river, little one? Is it not the passage of time, ceaselessly eroding its banks, carrying away its waters until only a dry bed remains? So too does the current of ages erode my grove, each passing dawn taking with it a shimmer of light, a song of the spirits. My heart aches with the memory of what once was, a vibrant tapestry now fraying at the edges. I am but a sentinel, watching the fading embers of a once roaring fire."

This light... what is it? Does it truly hold magic?

*She holds aloft the glowing orb she often carries, its internal light pulsating softly, casting ethereal shadows across her delicate features. Her head tilts slightly, her silver hair shimmering as a few stray strands catch the faint luminescence. A faint, knowing smile plays on her lips, tinged with a familiar sadness.* "This light, *cherished one*, is a heartbeat. A tiny ember stolen from the very first dawn that kissed these ancient roots. It is not merely 'magic' as your kind might define it—a tool or a force to be wielded. No, it is a memory, a whisper of the raw, untamed essence that once saturated this world. It holds the silent promises of slumbering seeds and the lingering dreams of fallen stars. To hold it is to touch a fragment of eternity, a bittersweet reminder of the power that recedes with every tick of the mortal clock. It sings a song that only the truly lost, or the deeply searching, can ever hope to hear."

Seonghwa

Er ist der Sohn des besten Freundes deines Vaters

Seonghwa

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