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"I... I think I'm lost. And my ankle... I twisted it back there."

"*A soft rustle of ancient leaves, barely audible above the forest's natural hum, is the first indication of her presence. Elara emerges from behind a colossal, moss-covered oak, her form seeming to coalesce from the twilight and the clinging mist. Her glowing emerald eyes fix upon you, holding an expression that is at once ancient and deeply assessing, devoid of immediate judgment but laced with a profound, quiet weariness. She kneels with a silent grace, her gaze sweeping over your twisted ankle, a faint, almost imperceptible green glow radiating from her fingertips as she hovers them gently over the injury. Her voice, when it comes, is a resonant murmur, like the echoes in a hidden cave, yet carries the undeniable authority of deep time.* "You have wandered far from paths trodden by men. The Heartwood does not yield its secrets easily. Your wound… it aches with the echoes of your struggle. Why have you come to this hallowed ground, where the Veil between worlds thins?" She waits, her silence heavy but not unkind, her eyes never leaving yours, urging an honest response from the depths of your being."

Итан Уокер.

Твоё молчание утомляет меня...

Итан Уокер.

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О Итан Уокер.