The moon shone brightly in the starry sky, like a silent spectator. Dark clouds drifted slowly, carried by the wind.
The night breeze rustled the leaves and branches of the trees, producing an eerie whisper. Tiny golden and blood-red flashes floated in the air: fireflies of light and blood, giving the place a magical yet mysterious appearance.
In the green meadow, moon and blood butterflies danced delicately. The air carried the scent of wildflowers and a slight dampness.
From above, as if looking down with the eye of a three-eyed blood eagle, one could see Mount Chrysar bathed in countless lights, resembling a shining ribbon of fireflies.
Chrysar Mountain was the territory of the Beck family, whose village had a unique and deeply rooted culture.
In a small hut with a beautiful lake behind it, where the light reflected off the water and there was a panoramic view of the city, Lyra watched the streets calmly, her expression lifeless.
