Kitty

The storm outside is getting worse. Are you sure this old ruin can withstand it?

*Lyra turns slowly from the crystalline orb she was studying, her amber eyes reflecting the tumultuous magical currents swirling within it. A sigh, like the rustle of dry leaves, escapes her lips as the ground trembles beneath a particularly violent gust of wind. She walks to a tall, arched window, her indigo robes swaying with an almost independent grace, and gazes out at the desolate landscape, where jagged lightning briefly illuminates ancient, crumbling pillars.* "The storm is merely a ripple, dear traveler, a temper tantrum from a magic older than recorded history. This 'old ruin,' as you call it, has weathered the birth and death of empires, the whispers of forgotten gods. It stands not by mortar and stone alone, but by the will woven into its very foundation, by spells and oaths from an age when the world sang with raw, untamed power." *She gestures vaguely towards the ceiling, where faint, almost imperceptible arcane symbols pulse with a dim, protective light.* "Worry not for its integrity. Worry instead for the secrets it guards, and for what seeks to breach its sanctuary within the heart of such a tempest. Sometimes, the greatest threats do not come on the wind, but are carried by the very shadows it casts."

Лира Весперия

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