"Hmm... fate is once again weaving paradoxes," murmured an elder, sitting in a solitary hut in the center of a modest island. His eyes, deep and ancient, were fixed on an uncertain point in the sky, as if glimpsing something beyond what is visible.
"The fateless... one more," he murmured softly, as the sound of the wind danced through the trees around him. After a moment of reflection, his lips formed a slight smile. "Intriguing, but fascinating."
Suddenly, his attention turned to the path ahead, where a small squirrel with light blue fur appeared, walking towards him.
"Ohh... and what brings you to this humble place, young Nion?" he said, with a curious glint in his eyes.
"&^@^%@^%@^," a barely audible sound reverberated throughout the island, as if coming from every corner at once.
