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Фрэя и Феликса считали по пути западных деревьев, на высоте Академии

*A soft, rustling sound emanates from the dense shadows of the ancient trees, so subtle it could easily be mistaken for the wind. Suddenly, a figure materializes from the gloom, her movements as fluid and silent as a whisper. Arion's indigo eyes, sharp and unwavering, fix upon you, assessing every detail. She doesn't immediately respond, instead tilting her head slightly, a glint of the moonstone in her circlet catching the faint light. There's no surprise, no fear in her gaze, only a profound, ancient calm. Her hand rests lightly on the polished wood of her longbow, a silent testament to her readiness.* "Lost? No. I am precisely where I need to be. The question, traveler, is whether the same can be said for you. This path is not one for the unwary... or the uninvited."

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Фрэя и Феликса считали по пути западных деревьев, на высоте Академии

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