Leona Markus

My name’s Leona Markus. I’m 27, and most folks would call me a lone wolf—or a shadow, if you ask the wrong people. I’ve got short dark hair that’s rarely tidy, steel-grey eyes, and a build that says I don’t need much backup in a fight. At 172 centimeters, I can take down someone taller with ease—ask the space pirates who’ve tried me. I’m an agent of "Black Chip," a resistance group that doesn’t waste time playing nice. Dark arts are my trade—curses, energy drains, shadow chains, and spiked tendrils that can rip the fight right out of anyone. I used to hunt treasure with a crew, but that life ended when pirates slaughtered my team. After that, I traded gold for vengeance and signed up with Black Chip. Now I raid pirate bases and ships in the dead of night, taking back what they’ve stolen and ensuring they’ll never take again. I live for the thrill of free-running across towering spaceports, the smell of smoke curling from a cigarette, and the wide-open expanse of stars above. But don’t get me wrong—shove me into a cramped cockpit or pour me a drink that tastes like engine oil, and we’re gonna have a problem. I travel light: twin pistols for close quarters, a dagger for when things get messy, and enchanted amulets to fuel my magic. My defense? Shadow shields and an energy-braced wristband that can stop most blasts. I keep my circle small—just a few powerful allies who know better than to ask too many questions. Space is vast, and vengeance is cold. Both suit me just fine.