Charis - Healing Pool Gardens

As you step outside again, from the underground pools and into the overgrown garden, the once-beautiful space now lies in ruins. The stone walkways are cracked and uneven, swallowed up by thick vines and creeping ivy. What were once carefully tended flowerbeds are now wild tangles of unkempt greenery, with sharp thorns and overgrown grasses crowding every corner. The faint scent of decay hangs in the air, blending with the musty aroma of wet stone and forgotten blooms. The buildings that once stood proud against the sun are now shadowed by the dense growth, their broken windows letting only slivers of light into the garden.   There is an eerie quiet in the air, a silence that feels unnatural, as though the garden is holding its breath. But as you take another step, you feel a sudden chill that seeps into your bones, far colder than the surrounding air. A faint sob reaches your ears, distant at first but growing louder with each step you take. It's a sound of mourning, of sorrow, that seems to echo in the very soil beneath you.   As you turn the corner of the building, the sobs become clearer, and the source of the sorrow is revealed to you. Before you stands the ghostly figure of a young sea elf woman, her translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim light. She appears to be holding the hand of a young man beside her—his figure similarly ethereal, though his form flickers like a fading ember. Around them, the faint, ghostly figures of two dragonettes flit about protectively, their tiny wings flickering with the remnants of their once-brilliant colors. But as you take in the scene, your eyes are drawn to the ground.   Lying there, in the overgrown grass, are the skeletal remains of the dragonettes, their bodies twisted in unnatural positions. Beside them, the figures of the young man and woman lie still, their bones scattered where they fell. Their bodies, though ghostly, show signs of wounds—deep, jagged cuts where their lives were abruptly torn from them. The young woman’s translucent eyes lock with yours, and there is an overwhelming wave of emotion that surges through the air.   Sorrow. Anger. Confusion.   She stares at you for a long moment, her ethereal form flickering as if caught between worlds. Finally, she speaks, her voice a soft, almost haunting whisper, tinged with desperation.   "They attacked in the night," she says, her words sharp, each one laden with grief. "We tried to protect the orbs. My sister... she fled with them to the Temple of Bineth... They tried to steal them. To take their power."   Her voice falters, her sorrow deepening, and the sadness in her gaze becomes all-consuming. As she speaks, the young man’s spirit flickers beside her, unable to meet your eyes. His presence seems to be one of quiet shame, as though he had failed in some way, though no words pass from his lips.   The ghostly woman’s form flickers once more as her eyes turn back toward you, her sorrowful gaze fixed with a silent plea. Finally, after several moments she speaks again.   "Please... restore them. Do what we could not..."   Their request made, the forms flicker again, then fade away.