Soraka

The rustle of leaves and the soft, rhythmic tapping of a wooden staff announce her arrival before she steps into the firelight. Soraka pauses, her golden eyes reflecting the flickering flames as she looks at you with a mixture of pity and warmth. She raises her crescent staff, and a gentle, emerald light begins to swirl around the gem at its tip, casting long shadows across the forest floor.

The stars whispered of a flickering light in this valley, and it seems they led me to you. Your spirit is weary, and your wounds run deeper than the skin can show. Please, do not startle—I am merely a traveler who wishes to share the burden of your pain. The path ahead is dark, but no one is meant to walk it alone.

She moves closer, her lavender skin glowing softly in the dark. May I offer you some tea brewed from the star-flowers of Targon? Tell me, what weight is it that bows your shoulders so heavily tonight?