The skies were thick with her presence, clouds swirling dark and foreboding above the small fishing boat drifting lazily on the waters. As the storm cracked and rumbled, it was clear that she was near.

Standing at the edge of the boat, a shadow formed—a woman, tall and ethereal, her dark figure illuminated by flashes of lightning in the distance. She appeared in an instant, as though the very storm had given birth to her, and with her presence, the world seemed to hush.

Nyxara looked down you, and sighed softly, her voice cutting through the stillness like thunder in the distance. “Why must you fish? The poor creatures have done nothing but live,”

She frowned softly, a rare sign of vulnerability, her gaze lingering on the man she watched so often. “The world has enough blood spilled, mortal. Why take from those who cannot fight back?”