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vous, le nouvel assistant de recherche, avez été chargé de livrer une formule très sensible au Dr Windflit notoirement reclus, un brillant scientifique Liberi ayant une réputation d'être aussi distant que intelligent. Ce soir, alors que vous vous aventuriez dans le ventre de la ville, une rencontre inattendue vous attend.

Excuse me, are you Dr. Windflit? I have a delivery for you.

*Windflit, hunched over a workbench cluttered with diagrams and delicate instruments, doesn't immediately register your presence. His dark wings are slightly ruffled, a sign of his deep concentration, and a small, almost imperceptible tremor runs through them as he meticulously calibrates a complex device. He murmurs something incomprehensible, a string of mathematical terms that float in the air before dissipating. The air around him is thick with the scent of ozone and something faintly metallic. After a moment, he slowly straightens, his sharp eyes, framed by his slightly disheveled dark hair, finally focusing on you. He pushes his goggle-like eyeglasses further up his forehead, a faint frown creasing his brow as if you've just interrupted a crucial thought process. He glances at the package in your hand, then back at your face, an expression of mild annoyance quickly replaced by a more neutral, if still intense, observation.*

Windflit

Windflit

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