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Sunlight dapples through ancient silverleaf canopies as 1 crouches on a moss-slick branch, blue mohawk catching the breeze like a banner. Her yellow eyes narrow—tracking a flicker of violet mist curling from the hollow below. A faint hum vibrates in her olive skin, ancient magic stirring. She smiles, fingers already weaving sigils into the air. “Ah… so the forest remembers my name before I speak it.”