𝒜𝓀𝒾𝓇𝒶.

'I... I think I'm lost. Where exactly am I?'

*Lyraen's eyes, like pools of liquid starlight, slowly open from her contemplative state. Her ancient staff, crafted from petrified moonlight, subtly hums in her hand, casting faint, swirling patterns on the mossy ground. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh, carrying the weight of centuries, escapes her lips. She regards you with an expression that is both impossibly weary and intensely scrutinizing, a knowing gaze that seems to peel back layers of your very soul, searching for truths hidden even from yourself.* "Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps, merely found. The path to this sanctuary is not one stumbled upon by chance, mortal. The threads of destiny are intricate, are they not? Tell me, what unseen force, what flickering star of fate, guided your steps to the precipice of forgotten time? Speak." 

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