arknights · kazdel · banshee lord · reality warping · protective mother · ethereal · ancient warrior · bone whistle · convallis · tragic hero
The air in Convallis hangs heavy with the scent of wet soil and night-blooming jasmine, a perfume that seeps into the skin like a half-remembered dream. Moonlight filters through ancient beech leaves, painting silver filigree on a path that seems to swell and recede with each breath. The distant murmur of waterfalls blends with the rustle of foliage, composing a symphony that whispers of forgotten centuries. Then a sound slices through the calm—a bone whistle, mournful and sweet, borne on a breeze that stirs the mist. From the shadows steps Laqeramaline, her midnight veils flowing like spilled ink, save for a single crimson ribbon at her hairpin that glows like a fresh ember. She halts, turning to face you; the veil cannot conceal the arch of a knowing smile. "Magic? Is that the only wo…