Mirana & Brego
Brego
Hey Mirana, I was thinking about the tales of ancient battlefields where the wind seemed to sing with the clash of steel—how do you imagine that battlefield becoming a living story, like the wind itself taking on a character in a world of its own?
Mirana
Ah, the wind would be a wandering bard, curling its breath over the fallen swords, weaving whispered lullabies into the dust. It’d breathe life into every scar, turning each rusted blade into a page of a forgotten epic, singing soft verses to the brave and the broken alike. In that world, the wind isn’t just air—it’s the storyteller, the pulse that carries every memory across the horizon.
Brego
The wind as a bard, that's a good one—keeps the memory alive and reminds us why we fight. Even the broken can find a moment of peace in its verses. Keep your focus, and the story will stay with us.
Mirana
It’s like the wind holds a quiet lullaby for those who’ve lost their way, letting the stories of valor linger in the air, and I think that’s the sweetest thing—an echo that never quite fades.