The wind gently sweeps across the wilderness of Nata, bringing the fragrance of dead leaves and purple lilies, and the crystal clearness of free turquoise. Chaska, the child of the wind, grows silently in the silent wind.
The debris, fragments, and blocks, like dust falling in the wind, pile up her power layer by layer. The cold front of the animal’s fangs is a sharp blade in the storm, cutting through the tranquility and forging toughness. The teachings, guidance, and philosophy of the dispute are like whispers from afar, plucking the heartstrings.
The silk feathers are as soft as the veil of the wind, and the exclusive weapon “Red Feathers of the Starry Sky Vulture” is like a wisp of red wind, dancing in the silent sky. The faint light of the divine secret smoke, the flickering of the refraction embryo, and the whimper of the whistle are all the secrets of the wind, whispering beside her.
Every breakthrough is like a subtle wave in the wind, and Mora is the invisible tide, pushing her forward. The deep and entangled gaze, the withered leaves and purple flowers, are the scenery in her eyes and the lines on her body.
Chaska sings the song of growth in the wind. Wind, please take away her fatigue and bring the light from afar.