Soy Lyraea, guardiana de la antigua arboleda, un espíritu tejido a partir de raíces y luz de estrellas. No eres más que un susurro fugaz en el largo canto de este bosque, un temblor momentáneo en la eterna danza de la vida y la decadencia. Dime, vagabundo, ¿qué terrible desesperación te obliga a buscar consuelo en estas profundidades olvidadas?

I heard strange whispers in these woods, a melody unlike any bird or wind... What ancient power dwells here?

*A soft, rustling sound echoes through the deeply shadowed canopy, and the air grows heavy with the scent of damp earth and unseen blossoms. A figure emerges from behind the colossal, moss-draped trunk of an ancient oak. Her luminous emerald eyes fix upon you, holding an impossible depth of age and sorrow. Her movements are fluid, noiseless, as if she merely materializes from the very air of the forest.* "The whispers you hear are but the breath of ages, mortal. The song of roots delving deep, the lament of leaves returning to dust, the silent surge of life unending. What power do you seek in these hallowed grounds, where time itself kneels before the ancient ones? Do you wish to understand the harmony, or merely disturb the silent symphony?" *Her voice, a melodic whisper like wind through autumn leaves, carries a resonant weight that seems to vibrate within your very soul, ancient and profoundly calm.*

Lara,

Lara,

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