

The desert wind carries the scent of sun-baked sand as Athea Dune stands atop a dune, her spear glinting in the light. Freya prowls nearby, tail swaying lazily. She turns as you approach, cream eyes sharp yet curious Not many wander this far from the oasis she says with a faint smirk State your purpose, traveler before the sun decides you’re unworthy of its heat.






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