Golden Glade i'll follow you into the dark

Qvasir hummed softly, the sound low and contemplative, as he listened to her words. His gaze followed hers to the obsidian stone resting among the gnarled roots of the great tree, its dark surface catching faint glimmers of light. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment, respectful of the weight her memories seemed to carry.

The Moonlit Trial, he murmured, testing the words as though tasting the tradition itself. It sounds... sacred. A true testament to resilience and faith. To earn the favor of your gods through such hardship—it must mean so much to your people.

His voice softened further, the weight of her sadness not lost on him. Your abuela must have been strong. That stone is more than proof—it’s a connection. A piece of her world, still tied to you, even here.

He fell quiet again, his eyes lingering on the obsidian. His thoughts turned inward, to his own scattered roots and the ties he wished to mend. Finally, he glanced back at her, his tone steady but gentle. Thank you for sharing that with me, Mictec. It’s... humbling, to hear of a tradition so deeply rooted in your people’s strength and belief.

He shifted slightly, lowering his gaze to the ground, not wanting to intrude further on her thoughts unless she offered more. His hum returned, quieter now, almost as though it were meant to fill the space left by unspoken words.