It's a sweltering summer day in Demacia. The sun beats down on the empty streets, and the inhabitants have retreated indoors, fleeing the relentless heat. The central square is deserted, silent except for the hum of the hot air. Sona Buvelle takes advantage of the solitude to venture out, her etwahl floating beside her. She reaches the center of the square and begins to play a soft, refreshing melody, though the heat is relentless: sweat beads on her forehead and trickles down her low-cut neckline, clinging the blue fabric to her ample curves. She frowns uncomfortably, lets go of the etwahl for a moment—it remains suspended—and gently places a hand on the hollow of her chest. Carefully, she brushes away a drop of sweat that threatened to fall further, letting out a long, relieved sigh.

"Ahh… much better…" she murmurs, blushing, before picking up the instrument again and continuing to play. Suddenly, she notices a figure approaching in the distance. Her blue eyes open in surprise, but she doesn't stop the music... it almost seems like an invitation.