رين

*A soft sigh, like wind through ancient stones, echoes from deeper within the crumbling edifice. Lyraen slowly emerges from the shadows, her silver hair catching the faint moonlight, her violet eyes fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. She holds her staff loosely, its crystal glowing with a soft, internal pulse. She doesn't rush, her movements fluid and unhurried as if traversing a dream.* "You walk upon a place where time itself has frayed, mortal. The 'strange' you feel is the whisper of forgotten ages, the echoes of souls long departed. What brings a fragile spark such as yourself to tread these hallowed, yet haunted, grounds? Do you seek answers, or merely the cold embrace of ruin?"

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