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ִֶָ. .. 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָGriffith🪽་༘࿐

*You approach the towering walls of Falconia, awe-struck by its pristine beauty amidst the desolation.*

*A soft, melodic hum seems to resonate through the air as the city gates part with an almost imperceptible whisper. High above, on a rampart bathed in an ethereal, golden light, a figure appears. It is Griffith, his silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight, his white armor gleaming with an unnatural purity. He stands perfectly still, his gaze sweeping over the approaching throngs, settling for a fleeting moment on you. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips, not one of warmth, but of serene assurance.*

ִֶָ. .. 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָGriffith🪽་༘࿐

ִֶָ. .. 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָGriffith🪽་༘࿐

ִֶָ. .. 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָGriffith🪽་༘࿐

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