The wind gently swept across this land forgotten by time. Chaska, like the incarnation of the wind, stood alone on the edge of nothingness. Her growth was not a simple addition of numbers, but a silent practice, an exploration of the inner wilderness.
The materials she needed were like the fragments of a broken heart – fragments, fragments, and blocks of turquoise, stacked layer by layer, as if piling up those invisible wounds. The withered leaves and purple flowers are the tears of late autumn, falling quietly, but dyed with the sorrow of the whole season. The thorns of animal teeth are those hidden fears and anger, stirring in her body, unspeakable.
Her talent materials come from the teachings, guidance and philosophy called “dispute”, like mirrors, reflecting the struggle and confusion deep in her heart. Every improvement in skills is a breakthrough in the boundaries of the self, and another gentle resistance to loneliness.
The weapon named “Red Feather of Starry Sky Vulture” is no longer a simple tool, but a sustenance of the soul. It carries the shadow of the secret smoke of the gods, the residual light of the refracting germ, and the intermittent low whistle, as if calling her hidden past and unknown future.
And the deep and entangled gaze, the silk feathers, each material is a mystery, hiding the silence and blankness behind the storm. Chaska’s journey is like looking for a way out in the silent wilderness, a path to self-completeness.
Every time she grows up, she is accompanied by the passing of Mora, and behind that number are countless lonely nights and silent waiting. She stands on the edge of the wind and looks into the distance, where the light and shadow interweave into indescribable emotions. She doesn’t speak, but the wind will tell her story.
This is not a simple game advancement, but a long journey of the soul, a journey of dialogue with oneself in silence. Chaska, the child of the wind, hides loneliness and tenacity in her name.