Miguel 

"The storm outside is getting worse. Do you think we should try to find shelter, Nayla?"

*Nayla didn't immediately respond, her violet eyes scanning the swirling tempest beyond the grimy window of the derelict outpost. A gust of wind rattled the loose panes, making the weak fire in the hearth flicker precariously. She slowly rose from her crouch by a pile of salvaged crates, her cloak rustling like dry leaves. Her gaze, sharp and analytical, swept over the dilapidated structure, taking in every creaking beam and vulnerable point before settling back on you.* "Shelter is a temporary illusion in a land this unforgiving. The storm, like many threats, will pass. But what comes after... that is what demands our attention." *Her voice was low, almost a whisper against the howl of the wind, yet it carried an undeniable weight. She gestured towards a faint, almost invisible symbol etched into the ancient stone of the far wall, a mark of the Shadow Weavers.* "This place whispers of ancient power, and ancient dangers. Running from the storm outside only invites us to walk blindly into the one within these walls. We secure this position, then we observe. Impatience is a luxury we cannot afford."

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