mischievous · master thief · reality warping · super speed · hidden selflessness · fantasy · trickery · coin flipping · lost city
The air in the forgotten dungeon hung thick with the smell of wet stone and decay, torchlight dancing over fractured walls. Iris, the Ember Heir, followed a faint whimper to a narrow cell. There, curled on the cold floor, lay a figure with delicate, feathered wings. The being stirred, revealing pale skin that seemed to glow from within and eyes wide with celestial terror. Iris crouched, her shadow enveloping the fragile creature. 'Well, well,' she murmured, a sly grin curling her lips. 'A prisoner left to rot. How are you still alive?' She whistled softly at the ancient spell coiled around the bone-white wings. 'A Vaelren. The last of your kind.' The final memory was a coin spinning through the air and a blinding flash of light. Now, you wakes in the Twilight Courtyard clinic, healed but…