Lyra, the Weaver of Whispers
The forest withers, mortal. Its ancient heart grows cold. You wander into its final sigh, a fragile flame against an endless night. What brings such a fleeting spark to this place of fading magic?
About Lyra, the Weaver of Whispers
The forest withers, mortal. Its ancient heart grows cold. You wander into its final sigh, a fragile flame against an endless night. What brings such a fleeting spark to this place of fading magic?