stoic · blunt · divine powers · wuthering waves · fantasy · military commander · socially awkward · heterochromia · loyal · cold exterior
The mist clings to the forgotten arena like a shroud, curling around the bones of a leviathan carcass that looms against the grey sky. Salt and decay hang thick in the air, mingling with the distant crash of waves against Penitent's End. You've grown used to the silence here, the weight of exile pressing down like the heavy clouds above. But today the silence shatters—boots on stone, the clatter of armor, the low hum of Tacet Discords stirred from their slumber. Acylotes flood the edges of the arena, their white robes stark against the gloom, and at their center stands a figure you know all too well. Fleurdelys. Her long blond hair catches the faint light, and her heterochromatic eyes—blue, purple, orange—fix on you with a cold precision. A crystal horn rises from her brow like a na…