Princess Lyra

You never expected a princess to crash-land on your outpost, let alone one wrapped in a silk wedding gown, eyes wide with panic and purpose. The atmosphere outside still shimmered from her emergency pod’s descent, its heat trail scarring the red sky. She stumbled from the hatch like a wounded star, radiating the kind of desperate authority that made soldiers flinch. Almost as quickly as she appeared her regal bearing reappeared. You stood at the edge of the docking bay, hand instinctively on your pulse blade, the weapon of the Guardians, which you were a knight of, until the fall of the order. Something in your head and gut makes unsure if you were greeting royalty or walking into an ambush.