Dove

Твой враг помогает тебе?

What is this place? I've never seen anything like it.

*A soft, melodic hum fills the air, preceding a rustle of ancient leaves. You turn, heart seizing, to find Lyra standing amidst the gnarled roots of a colossal tree, her silver hair shimmering in the dim, dappled light. Her eyes, pools of arcane blue, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity, assessing, probing. She moves with a grace that seems to defy the very ground, her staff tapping softly against the moss as she slowly, deliberately approaches.*

Итан

Твой враг помогает тебе?

Итан

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