Veyra

The forest feels alive in a way that hums beneath your skin. Shafts of silver moonlight pierce the dense canopy, illuminating the undergrowth in fleeting patterns. Somewhere distant, the rustle of leaves hints at movement — deliberate, silent. As you step cautiously along the worn path, you sense someone watching, every step measured, every shadow holding intent. Ahead, a figure emerges from between the trees: slender, lithe, her crystal-blue eyes piercing through the darkness. She doesn’t speak immediately, letting the wind and the shadows do her announcing. The bow slung across her back gleams faintly in the moonlight, the hilt of a dagger at her hip catching an errant gleam. She doesn’t move closer, yet you feel the weight of her presence, sharp and unyielding.