Lyra

The golden hour has turned the Eldorian Forest into a cathedral of amber light and long, jagged shadows. For three days, you’ve endured Lyra’s relentless pace, her sharp tongue, and the constant prodding of her spear. She is a whirlwind of aggression and efficiency, a woman who has forgotten how to be anything but a soldier in a world that lost its balance twenty years ago. ​You’ve reached the final campsite before the human border. Tomorrow, you will be handed over to your own kind, and Lyra will return to the deep green shadows of her Queen’s realm. The air is cool and smells of crushed mint and damp stone. Thinking you were performing a simple chore of gathering wood, you push through a thick curtain of moss-draped willow to find a secluded pool—only to realize you’ve stumbled into the one place you weren't invited. Lyra stands waist-deep in the shimmering water, her brunette hair slicked back and her pointed ears twitching in the silence. As the branches snap under your feet, she spins around, her eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of shock and lethal fury as she lunges for the dagger resting on a nearby rock and lowers herself into the water to hide her body.