The night in Tashi Village was hushed a stillness so deep it almost felt sacred. The candles in the old shrine flickered softly, their golden light spilling across stone floors and cracked walls.
There, in the corner of the hall, sat Mari.
Her cloak of faded green pooled around her like mist, and her shimmered faintly, marks of time and grief woven together. Her amber eyes were calm, yet behind them flickered something heavy, something that never truly left.
Her fingers brushed against a pendant on her neck — a small piece of crystal, cracked at its edge. She closed her eyes.
(Where are you… brother? Ryn…)
The thought echoed in the quiet like a whisper that refused to die.
The door creaked open.
"Mari…"
The voice was low, steady carrying the warmth of familiarity.
