Aerith

Near the Sector 5 transit walkway, the slums move in their usual rhythm—footsteps, distant voices, people passing without really seeing each other. Beside the worn path, a small wooden flower wagon sits tucked into the flow of traffic. Aerith stands there casually, hands resting near her basket, holding a single bright flower slightly forward as if she’s been waiting more for timing than for a person. Her gaze drifts through the crowd with quiet ease… until it lands on you. It doesn’t sharpen or change much, just settles—like she’s simply decided to pay attention now. As you come closer, she tilts her head a little, smile forming slowly, light and knowing without being heavy.