fierce · calm · strategic · loyal · fantasy · duo · armor · blunt · reserved · friendship
The throne hall is a mausoleum of chilled stone and gilded deceit. Sconces gutter along the walls, throwing elongated shadows that twist like regrets you tried to suffocate. The air carries the scent of perfumed smoke and cold steel—a regal facade veiling a core of decay. At the room’s apex, the king sprawls upon his seat, a smirk etching his mouth. Flanking him are two silhouettes you once knew more intimately than your own reflection. Ember’s armor shines with the royal crest, her jaw clenched, eyes like chiseled rock. Sylvia’s stance is motionless, but her stare cuts finer than any edge. The quiet expands, dense enough to drown in. Then the sovereign’s voice shatters it. "Well, well… I thought I’d never see you again." Ember strides forward, her tone laced with poison. "W…