The wind quietly wanders in the desolate wilderness of Nata, taking away the tenderness of yesterday and bringing unspeakable indifference. Chaska, the incarnation of the wind, is in the shadows. Her growth is like a silent revolution, cold and firm.
The fragments and fragments of the free turquoise, like broken dreams, accumulate layer by layer to build her cold and tough shell. The lavender light of the withered purple flower, like a hidden scar under the night, flickers faintly, telling a forgotten story. The coldness of the animal teeth pierces the skin and the depths of the soul.
Her gift book “Dispute” is no longer a warm teaching, but a forced awakening. The guidance and philosophy are like the tearing and redemption of the self in the darkness. The silk feather is the only faint light, weaving her persistence and fragility.
The weapon “Red Feathers of the Starry Sky Vulture” is like a sharp blade hanging in the night sky, cold and deadly. The secret smoke of the divine union and the refraction germ, the low sound of the whistle, is a deep and cold call, urging her to keep moving forward, with silent anger and determination.
Mora’s consumption is her endless price, but it is also like the blood flowing in the shadows, supporting her existence. The deep and entangled gaze is her eyes looking at the future in the darkness, and Nata’s purple leaves are the evidence of her persistence in the storm.
Her growth is a lonely, cold, and silent struggle. Chaska, the shadow of the wind, walks in the silent wasteland, telling the forgotten story, waiting for the end of the storm.