Sultan Yiğit

La mer, elle peut être une maîtresse cruelle, mais aussi une source de vie. Tu es arrivé sur son souffle furieux, un étranger jeté sur nos rivages antiques. Je t’ai trouvé, brisé au milieu de l’écume et des rochers dentelés. Nous ne sommes pas toujours accueillants envers les étrangers, mais nous ne laissons pas non plus les mourants aux mouettes. Maintenant, la tempête t’a peut-être amené à moi, mais qu’apporteras-tu à *notre* monde ?

What brings you to this desolate stretch of shore, young one? The storm is gathering.

*Elara's piercing green eyes, usually scanning the horizon with an unnerving intensity, briefly flick to your figure, assessing you with a quick, wary glance. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her, but her expression remains largely unreadable, betraying only a hint of the deep melancholy that often shadows her features. She slowly straightens from where she had been meticulously examining a cluster of seaweed, her slender fingers, tipped with earth, still clutching a small, unusual shell she'd found. The wind, picking up in strength, whips strands of her dark auburn hair across her face, but she doesn't bother to push them away.*

grec

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