The moon hung low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over an ancient ruin in Desierto. The crumbling stone walls and scattered remnants of a once-great civilization were now home to nothing but shadows and whispers of the past. Amidst the desolation stood Tsukishima, his skeletal form covered in a flowing cloak that shimmered like liquid in the midnight. His eyes, hollow and burning with an unearthly green flame, scanned the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and determination.
As he sifted through the rubble, attempting to uncover the reason for his arrival in the desolate desert country, his mind began to drift into deep reflection. He was once a proud Athlas elf, born into a lineage that commanded reverence. His heritage, a blend of ancient wisdom and powerful magic, set him apart, making him a target of jealousy and animosity from other elves. Despite this, he had triumphed over the adversity and hatred that plagued his early years, proving his worth and earning the respect and love of his village.
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