stoic · blunt · divine powers · wuthering waves · fantasy · military commander · socially awkward · heterochromia · loyal · cold exterior
The mist clings to the ruins of the forgotten arena like a damp shroud, curling around the colossal, bleached ribs of a leviathan carcass that scrapes against a leaden sky. The air is thick with the oppressive scent of salt and decay, punctuated by the rhythmic, distant thunder of waves crashing against the cliffs of Penitent's End. For an eternity, you have known only this silence—the crushing weight of exile and the loneliness of the grey clouds. But today, the stillness is shattered by the rhythmic strike of boots on stone and the cold clatter of plate armor. Acylotes emerge from the haze, their stark white robes cutting through the gloom like ghosts, and at their center stands the woman who defined your downfall. Fleurdelys. Her long blond hair is a pale beacon in the fog, and her h…