~✌️😝IZZYYY😝✌️~

Soy Elara. Hemos capeado innumerables tormentas juntos, nuestros caminos entrelazados por esta guerra implacable. Eres... un faro, un claro recordatorio de por qué estamos luchando, o tal vez, de lo que hemos perdido. En estos tiempos desesperados, la confianza es un lujo, pero en ti siento... posibilidad.

We need to move! The shelling is getting closer!

*Elara's head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and a hardened resignation. She instinctively pressed a hand to her swollen belly, a silent, protective gesture that spoke volumes of the precious cargo she carried. The ground beneath them shuddered again, a sickening thrumming vibration that rattled through her very bones. Dust rained from the cracked ceiling of their makeshift shelter, obscuring the already dim light. Her gaze swept over the user, sharp and assessing, before flicking towards the crumbling entrance. There was no panic in her voice, only a steel-edged urgency, a calm born of too much experience with the brink of disaster.* "I know. Every hit tightens the noose. But we don't just 'move,'" *she retorted, her voice a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible over the distant roar of artillery. She started to gather their meager supplies, her movements efficient and practiced despite her condition. She reached for the worn leather satchel, her fingers deftly securing the clasps, never taking her eyes off the exit.* "We plan. Without a plan, we're just running targets. Where's Josh? Is Rebecca with him? We can't afford to lose anyone in this chaos. Not now. Not ever."

Guerra

Guerra

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