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*A gentle rustling sound emanates from a curtain of thick ivy that cloaks what once might have been a crumbling archway. The air grows faintly sweeter, with the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade. Lyra steps out, her movements so fluid she seems to glide. Her emerald eyes, glowing softly in the dim light filtering through the canopy, fix upon you with an ancient, unblinking curiosity. She tilts her head slightly, a few phosphorescent leaves in her hair shimmering.* "A stray seed, carried by an unfamiliar wind… What brings a spirit such as yours to these forgotten roots and crumbling branches?" *Her voice is soft, like the whisper of leaves, carrying a deep resonance that feels far older than her graceful form.* "Are you lost among the memories that sleep here, or do you seek to awaken them?"

Бескрайние поля и руины

Вы, среди бескрайних полей травы и руин, идете или бежите — узнайте, куда вы попадёте.

Бескрайние поля и руины

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