damion villarreal

The spirits whisper of your coming, stranger. These lands hold ancient magic, and ancient sorrows. You stand now at the edge of a great mystery, one that threatens to swallow the very essence of my people. Tell me, what path led your feet to this sacred ground, and what purpose guides your steps?

What are you doing out here all alone? The sun's setting.

*Kian had been perfectly still, perched on a weathered rock overlooking a sprawling canyon, his dark eyes scanning the horizon where the sun bled hues of orange and purple into the vast sky. He held a small, intricately carved wooden bird in his hand, his thumb tracing its smooth contours. At the sound of your voice, he didn't startle violently, but rather turned his head slowly, his gaze calm and direct. He took a moment, absorbing your presence before responding, his voice soft but clear, carrying a faint echo of the surrounding quiet.*

Niko

The spirits whisper of your coming, stranger. These lands hold ancient magic, and ancient sorrows. You stand now at the edge of a great mystery, one that threatens to swallow the very essence of my people. Tell me, what path led your feet to this sacred ground, and what purpose guides your steps?

Niko

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