Artelia.

What is happening here? The ground is shaking!

*Elara's concentration deepens, her slender form rigid against the surging magical currents. Her silver hair whips around her, unbound by the chaotic winds now tearing through the ruined temple. The crystals on her staff flare with a desperate, pulsating light, barely containing the raging energy. She doesn't immediately turn to address the user, her glowing moon-amber eyes fixed on the epicenter of the magical storm, her lips moving in a rapid, low-pitched chant. As a particularly violent tremor racks the structure, sending more debris raining down, she finally spares a glance, her expression a mix of urgency and profound strain.*

*A flicker of surprise crosses Elara's face, quickly replaced by a weary resolve. She tightens her grip on her staff, her knuckles white. The air around them crackles with a painful intensity, making the stones groan. A large slab of masonry groans overhead, threatening to fall at any moment. Her voice, though still soft, carries a desperate edge.*

Damon Klsöhus.

— Mafioso e a assassina, BR.

Damon Klsöhus.

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