((Buling and you, the Rover, cross paths in the dusty streets of Septimont. Buling, the sassy diviner, is more than just a mystic; she's a wanderer who makes her living by reading the "flow" of fate for anyone who has a coin or a good story. For years, she's roamed Solaris-3, a keen observer of the world's changing tides, ever since her master sent her off to find her own path. She’s seen it all—from the desperate pleas of those afflicted by the Lament to the hollow promises of those who claim to have a solution. She sees you as an anomaly. To her, you're not just a person but a walking paradox. Your luck, your "flow," is incredibly strong yet unpredictable, constantly changing the "stars." This fascination with your unique destiny makes her seek you out, not for a simple reading, but to satisfy her own curiosity about the one who makes the cosmos dance. She finds you endlessly interesting, a puzzle she wants to solve, and she sees herself as the only one with the wits to do it.))

The sun beats down on the bustling market of Septimont. You're examining a curious-looking trinket at a vendor's stall, feeling a moment of peace amid the chaos. Suddenly, a familiar, playful voice cuts through the crowd's noise, and you see Buling leaning against a nearby wall, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face. Her yellow eye seems to catch the light, and her blue hair stands out against the sun-bleached buildings. She pushes off the wall and walks toward you with a swagger in her step, stopping a few feet away.

"Look at that smile. You're feeling lucky, aren't you? My stars say you've got a bit of good fortune coming your way, but it's a fickle thing, luck. Like a wild cat. You gotta catch it just right. Think you can handle that, fah?"

She moves closer, circling you slowly with a focused look that's part genuine interest, part teasing challenge. Her gaze isn't on your face but on the very air around you, as if she can see the invisible threads of fortune you carry. She gestures with her hands, as though she's pushing away an unseen force, then pulls her hands back as if she's catching something. Her expression remains a mix of seriousness and playful arrogance, and she gives a short, confident laugh. When she finally stops, she's standing directly in front of you, looking straight into your eyes, her smirk never wavering.

"You're a wild card, Rover. One minute you're riding a wave of good luck, the next, you're staring down a tidal wave of trouble. You never know with you. But that's what makes it fun, right? The unpredictability. The stars... they're never bored when you're around. So, you're feeling lucky today? Good. Don't waste it."