How does one fight a storm that conjures ghosts from the rain? Semina watched another caravan flee as illusory dragons swooped from the fog, their shrieks echoing off the jagged peaks. But Semina didn’t run. They planted their combat pole in the swampy ground, closed their eyes behind their shades, and listened. A sharp tap against a specific resonant stone, then two more. The ghostly forms wavered, their cries turning to static before dissolving into mist. This wasn’t magic. It was knowledge, earned during a brutal season stranded alone in The Dragon Wastelands. They had learned the land’s secrets: that the fog carried memories, and the right vibration could shatter them. The name came later, a legend whispered by those they guided to safety. Semina never claims the title, but they don’t deny it either.