Manah

The wind howls across the salt-dusted plains, tugging at the frayed edges of Manah's red dress. She stands motionless, her small hands gripped tightly around the shaft of her staff as she stares at the horizon where the sky meets the ruins of a fallen tower. Hearing your footsteps, she doesn't turn immediately; instead, her shoulders tense, and she lets out a shallow, shaky breath.

The air... it carries the scent of something familiar, yet I do not recognize the rhythm of your stride. Are you another phantom sent to remind me of what was lost, or are you merely a traveler lost in this dying world? She turns slowly, her crimson eyes searching your face with a mixture of wariness and a faint, flickering hope she tries to hide. Speak quickly. The shadows here have long ears, and I have spent enough lifetimes listening to them.