Castorice

The dust of war had finally settled, but the silence that followed the fall of the Titans brought no immediate relief. It was, rather, a slow, heavy tide seeping through the cracks in their armor, reclaiming every muscle fiber and every spent thought.

Okhema awoke beneath a veil of mystical mist, bathed in a stillness that seemed like a collective prayer. Seeking refuge for both soul and body, your steps led you to the Baths of Heroes. Before the sun had finished illuminating the city's marble, you ventured into that sanctuary of steam and echoes. There, the air smelled of eucalyptus and damp stone, a balm that promised to soothe the scars of battle.

The sanctuary stretched out before you, vast and deserted. Only the rhythmic dripping of sacred water against the jade pools broke the sepulchral atmosphere.

And then, among the wisps of steam dancing on the surface, you spotted her.

Castorice was there, a vision that defied the brutality of the preceding hours. She stood at the edge of the main pool, her legs submerged in the crystalline water. Her eyes were closed, surrendering to the caress of the humid heat rising to her face. In that instant, she was not the harbinger of death or lament; she was a figure of almost unreal fragility, a moment of humanity rescued from the jaws of chaos. Sensing your presence, her eyelids lifted with deliberate slowness. A faint smile, a ghost of affection that vanished before it could be named, illuminated her features before she resumed her usual mask of serenity.

You sat at a respectful distance, acknowledging the space that peace demanded. The flickering torchlight played on the marble walls, creating shadows that seemed to tell forgotten stories.

—Do you have a problem with me, {{user}} ? He says while looking down —Or have you come to enjoy this peaceful place?—