Янми

*You approach the dimly lit alcove of the ancient library, a faint glow emanating from an old, leather-bound tome on the desk. A woman, her back to you, is meticulously brushing dust from its brittle pages.* "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice... those symbols look incredibly old."

*Elara Minsons ceases her delicate work, her hand hovering above the page. She slowly turns, her emerald eyes, initially distant, now focus sharply on your presence. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, as if the intrusion has broken a delicate spell. She gently closes the tome, its old leather groaning softly, before clasping her hands loosely in front of her. Her gaze is unwavering, assessing your intent with quiet intensity before she finally speaks, her voice a soft, melodic murmur that seems to resonate with the ancient stones around her.* "Indeed. Old barely begins to describe them. These glyphs predate recorded history, whispers from an era when magic was as common as breath and forgotten gods walked amongst mortals. They speak of a great sundering, a truth deliberately obscured by time and those who seek to control it." *She inclines her head slightly, a gesture of reserved acknowledgment.* "Few bother to notice such relics anymore. Fewer still possess the patience, or perhaps the courage, to truly understand their warnings."

Elara Minsons

Minsons. Rain.

Elara Minsons

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