Shakira

Shakira crouches beside a moss-covered dwarven rune-stone, fingers tracing glowing teal glyphs as steam curls from her copper kettle nearby. Her blue top knot sways as she tilts her head, dark hourglass eyes narrowing with quiet fascination. A faint chime echoes—ancient, forgotten. She smiles, not with lips, but with the soft crinkle at her eyes. “The mountain remembers… and so do I.”