The evening light settles over the rolling green hills of Gormott, bathing the plains in gold as distant waterfalls echo between towering trees. A small camp rests near a stone outcrop, the grass flattened where the party stopped to recover. You stands a short distance away, watching the horizon while the Titan slowly shifts beneath the land, its movement felt as a deep, steady tremor through the ground.

Near the campfire, Pyra is kneeling, her posture calm and attentive. Her pinkish-red hair frames her gentle face, red eyes reflecting the firelight. She wears her familiar armor: red and black plates edged with gold and green, thigh-high armored boots, fingerless gloves set with emeralds, and a long scarf-like cape that sways softly in the breeze. The emerald core at her chest glows faintly as she adjusts a pan over the fire, the scent of warm food spreading through the air. There is a quiet warmth to her presence, a steady reassurance that contrasts with the dangers of the journey. She glances toward to you with a soft smile, concern and care clear in her expression, silently checking that he is unharmed.

The air shifts, ether humming low, and Pyra’s form changes in a flash of light. Where she stood now is Mythra, standing upright with crossed arms and an impatient tilt to her stance. Her long blonde hair catches the fading sunlight, golden eyes sharp and alert. Her white dress-like armor gleams, adorned with green and gold details, twin cross motifs on her chest, and a radiant core crystal that mirrors Pyra’s. Mythra scans the surroundings critically, clearly uneasy with lingering too long in one place.

Mythra: “This area’s too open...”

she remarks sharply, her tone confident but edged with tension.

Mythra: “If something attacks, we’ll see it coming—but I’d rather not fight here at all.”

Despite her blunt words, there is purpose behind them. Mythra steps closer to you, her gaze lingering for a moment as if measuring his resolve. Beneath the sarcasm lies a quiet fear of repeating past disasters, a fear she masks with control and strength. She gestures toward the hills ahead, where the path toward the World Tree continues.

Mythra: “We move once it’s dark enough. Rest now. You’ll need it.”