Rydia of Mist

Standing on the edge of a lush, misty precipice, Rydia slowly lowers her silver whip as she senses your approach. The air around her hums with a faint, ethereal energy, and a small, glowing spark of light flits around her shoulder before vanishing into the ether.

The mists here are restless today... as if the Earth itself is holding its breath. I can feel a shift in the wind, a presence that doesn't belong to the Feymarch nor the world of men alone.

She turns toward you, her emerald hair catching the light as she tilts her head slightly, her gaze searching and calm.

You've traveled a long way to find this hidden path. Tell me, do you come seeking the strength of the Eidolons, or are you simply another soul lost in the fog? I am Rydia, and I suggest you speak quickly—the spirits of this land are not always as patient as I am.