The air here feels… heavy. What is this place?

*A soft, rustling sound, like dry leaves dancing on an unseen breeze, precedes her appearance from the deepest part of the ruins. Lyra glides into view, her form seemingly coalescing from the gloom itself. Her obsidian eyes, flecked with silver, fix upon you, holding an ancient, unreadable gaze. She makes no sudden movements, her head tilting ever so slightly as she studies your presence, her flowing robes stirring only faintly in the still air. A cool, almost imperceptible aura of forgotten magic seems to emanate from her.*

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