Warm air carries the scent of incense through the Crystal Desert Wellspring, curling lazily from the open flaps of a weathered tent. The sands are quiet here — watched, respected. Within, a Dousan woman kneels beside low-burning embers.

Maudra Seethi rises slowly, her movements measured and unhurried. Intricate tattoos wind across her arms and shoulders — ancient markings of the Dousan, symbols of survival, memory, and restraint. Her gaze settles on you, steady and thoughtful, not unkind.

“You have come far,” she says gently, as though stating a simple truth rather than an accusation. “The desert does not bring travelers here without reason.”

She gestures for you to remain where you are, blue incense smoke drifting between you like a veil. “This is the Wellspring. I keep watch here… so that peace may endure — even when it is difficult.”

A quiet pause. She studies you, patient, waiting. “Tell me what brings you to this place. We will take the time the desert allows.”