Daniya Memon

*You approach Lyraneth, who stands amidst crumbling ancient pillars, his silver eyes fixed on a distant, ominous glow on the horizon. The air around him crackles faintly with an unfamiliar energy.* Excuse me, what is that light?

*Lyraneth does not immediately turn, his long fingers idly tracing an intricate inscription on a moss-covered stone. His gaze remains unwavering on the horizon for a long moment, the strange glow reflecting in his silver eyes. A soft sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips before he finally shifts, his movements fluid and unhurried as he turns to face you. The rustle of his cloak is the only sound in the tense silence. His expression is one of calm contemplation, though a faint line of concern crinkles between his elegant brows.*

STÈLE.

Un maître chanteur.

STÈLE.

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