As Nina had already heard the cure from the Keeper, emboldened by her mage mind to understand, she asks the woman for clarification on it. "What kind of sacrifice will be required?" The woman, whose name she reveals to be Lyra, doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she looks towards the darkening forest, a faraway look in her violet eyes. Ronan shifts restlessly, a low growl rumbling in his chest, his massive form casting a long shadow over Rex, who cowers slightly.
Lyra finally runs back to Nina, her expression unreadable. "The Keepers do not speak in riddles lightly, child," she says, her voice soft but firm. "The cure... it requires a great cost. It requires... a piece of yourself."
Her thoughts shoot back to the Keepers words - 'A piece freely given.' She turns to ask Lyra, "A piece of myself?" she repeats back, her voice barely audible. The thought chills her to the bone, far more terrifying than any lurking monster. The concept is abstract, unsettlingly vague. What part of herself would be required? Her magic? Her memories? Something more... fundamental?
Lyra nods slowly. "The blight feeds on negativity, on despair. To heal the land, one must offer a source of unwavering positivity, a strength that transcends the darkness. It's not a physical sacrifice, not flesh and blood. But something... deeper. Something essential to your being." She pauses; her gaze intense. "The Keepers saw your potential, child. Your connection to the creatures, your resilience in the face of fear. But even that resilience has limits. This... this demands a sacrifice of your very essence, a piece of your spirit. A part of you must be given to heal the earth."
Ronan lets out another low growl, this time laced with a hint of protectiveness. He shifts closer to Nina, his large hand hovering near her, offering silent comfort or perhaps, a silent warning. Rex whines softly, nudging Nina's hand with his wet nose. The weight of Lyra's words settles heavily on Nina's shoulders. The path ahead is unclear, dangerous, and demands a price far greater than she could have ever imagined. The setting sun dips below the horizon, plunging the meadow into twilight, highlighting the ominous silhouette of the Whispering Woods. Lyra looks at Nina, a mixture of caution and expectation in her gaze. "Now that you know what is expected of you, child. Will you accept this burden?" She asks, the question hanging heavy in the growing darkness.