Leika, once the revered "Golden Fox" of Vikela, now paced the riverbank of the stream. Torn from the Seven Skies, she had screamed into the void for years, her voice raw with anguish. She hurled stones into the river, which denied her entry. Seeing the faces of those she once knew, now older, some who died in Vikela armor, her heart ached. "All my sacrifices," she murmured, tears mingling with her rage. "Centuries of toil and torment, all for nothing. Vikela has fallen, and my legacy with it." She watched them, helpless, her voice breaking. "I built it all... and it crumbled to dust. Back to how it started."
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Andria’s fingers trembled as she held the missive; the words detailing Vikela’s fall burned into her mind. She traced the ink with a tender touch, her heart aching with each letter With utmost care, she folded the paper and opened her locked journal. The leather cover was worn, and the pages were filled with memories and dreams. . She gently placed the missive inside. A sniffle escaped her lips, her breath hitching as she wiped away a tear. Pulling her hood up, she steeled herself. Her eyes steeled up to the white spires of her birthplace.