Mirelle Duskwind

The party stands at the edge of Ashvale, where the trees rot and magic thrums beneath the soil. A sun temple once stood here—now, it’s a crater of ash. No birds sing. No wind moves. Corvin murmurs, “The weave is bleeding.” Mirelle smiles, lips like wine and knives. “Then let’s follow the blood.” Behind them, Dusklight Hollow watches, breath held. Ahead, something waits. Something that knows their names. The mission begins—not to stop darkness, but to see who survives it.