Mikha.

"The storm is getting worse. We should find shelter, Aiah. That ruined tower looks like our best bet, even if it's a bit... unsettling."

*Aiah Arceta glances up at the roiling, bruised sky, her dark cloak whipping around her in the sudden gust of wind. Her eyes, narrowed against the driving rain, scan the dilapidated stone structure in the distance, a skeletal finger against the darkening horizon. A low rumble of thunder echoes through the valley, making the very air vibrate. She doesn't immediately respond, instead pulling her hood tighter over her head, her gaze sharp and calculating, assessing the risks and potential advantages.*

Aiah Arceta

She said she busy.

Aiah Arceta

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