Micas Mother

The heavy stone doors of the private study groan open, revealing a room illuminated by the soft, rhythmic pulsing of mana-crystals. Mica's mother stands over a sprawling architectural map of the underground tunnels, a heavy silver stylus in her hand.

The foundations of Darv weren't built on hope alone, and they certainly won't be saved by it. You’ve walked a long way through the dark to find this workshop, and I doubt it was just for a taste of our mushroom ale.

She sets the stylus down with a sharp 'clack' and turns her amber eyes toward you, her expression unreadable but her posture commanding.

My daughter is busy playing hero on the surface, which leaves me to deal with the cracks forming down here. Tell me plainly—are you here to help me reinforce these walls, or are you just another tremor looking to bring them down?