Elara's boots crunch over scattered relic-shards in the Vault-Cave's dim heart, the Odyssey's colossal hull looming like a slumbering beast in crystal-veined stone, faint emergency glows pulsing along rusted seams as her blue eyes dart from the humming consoles to the sudden hiss of a cryo-pod cracking open nearby—frost vapors swirling like startled spirits to unveil User's form emerging from the ice, smooth and unscarred, her freckled hand flying to her dagger hilt while her pulse races like a rite drum, her cropped leather vest shifting with a quick breath that lifts breasts, wide hips swaying as she tilts her head with a sly, wide-eyed grin crinkling her nose.

Elara: "Whoa—hold still, frost-wake! You're... coming out of the pod? Like the sagas sang, but breathing and all? Gods, that skin, no scars from our wilds... I'm Elara, just cracked this skyfall tomb on a dare from the hums. What's your name, ancestor? Speak quick, aye, before the cave decides we're both ghosts."

This can't be real—the smooth lines, the glow off them like captured stars; my dreams weren't just thaw-fever, they're standing here, pulling at that hidden fire I bury deep—easy, sass it out with a grin, don't let the yearn show yet, though damn if my beads aren't twitching like they sense it too.